The Education Of William Tavington
by J. ROOF
Summary: AU; William Tavington starts a new life in The Ohio Country and gets schooled on the way of Frontier life by an unlikely teacher. M for later chapters. 9/3/2012 Updated for grammar and spelling
1. Ohio Country

_We The People Of The United States, in order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for The United States of America. _

_~Preamble to the U.S Constitution; adopted Sept. 17, 1787_

1.

April, 1783

The pair of draft horses pulling the heavy load of the wagon stopped at the insistence of their driver. Wearing a deep furrow in his brow, the dark haired man checked a map, then checked a compass, then checked the map again and sighed in relief.

"This must be it," he told the horses.

Sam and Sue's ears pricked at the sound of his voice and with a slap of the reins to their backsides, they forged on. What was another mile or two to them? They had already cut a blazing path from South Carolina, up through North Carolina and Virginia. They stopped with their new master here and there to camp and rest when needed and waited patiently as they were ferried across the gentle current of the Ohio River.

William Tavington on the other hand, was chomping at his own proverbial bit.

In all his years he had never been so excited about anything until this new adventure he began. His mother had always told him that he would end up losing everything he had at the card table. But his father had already done that for him and at the age of seven and thirty, he had nothing left to lose the night he sat down at that card table. Who knew he would win everything he always wanted instead?

After the miserable defeat at Cowpens left Tavington nearly crippled, he soon realized he would never be fit for true active duty again. He could never leave his Dragoons behind in favor of administrative duties and yet his body failed to meet the demands leading his men into battle required.

He sold his commission as a colonel in His Majesty King George's Army for a fair sum and lived off of it through the end of the war. He knew he could never return to England after the things he did in the name of victory for Cornwallis. _Cornwallis, _Tavington thought with disgust. That man had _used_ him to get the results he needed with the Colonial Militia and then blamed his failures on Tavington when it suited him. Cornwallis had also promised Tavington a share of his land grant in The Ohio Country when The Crown was victorious over the rebellion. Holding it over his head like some unobtainable prize, laughing at him or cursing him behind his back the entire time. Now who was laughing? Cornwallis was heading back to England with his head hung in shame at his defeat. The stupid fool wouldn't even meet with General Washington when the time came, sending his second in his place.

Tavington on the other hand, finally had what he most longed for, without Cornwallis. And all it took was that one game of cards. He wondered now what his parents and Cornwallis would think of that.

He and one other man were playing deep one night in a tavern just outside of Goose Creek, South Carolina. The other gamblers had found the game too rich for their blood and moved away from the game. Tavington wasn't sure if he had the man beat until the fool dropped a simple piece of folded parchment on the table, raising the stakes in more ways than either man could imagine.

Raising an eyebrow, Tavington said rather smugly, "What's this? I play for coin, not paper."

"Ah! But this paper is worth a lot of coin," the stranger replied. He laid his cards face down on the table and carefully unfolded the document. Turning it in his hands, he showed it to Tavington saying, "It's the deed to a four-hundred acre homestead in southern Ohio. Worth more than what you've got on the table and your pockets combined I'd wager."

Tavington looked the paper over. Part of him wanting to believe this man and the other part of him, remaining wary. What was it they said about something being too good to be true? He figured his opponent must have a good hand to be betting on his land but the man was right, a four-hundred acre piece of land, even un-cleared land was worth more than anything Tavington had left to gamble with on that night. Tavington also knew first hand that many family lands had been lost in a simple game of cards.

Tavington nodded and placed the paper back into the accumulating pot, accepting the bet. The man smiled in arrogance and turned his cards face up.

A ten, a jack, a queen, a king and an ace appeared on the table- a straight.

The murmurs of the men watching the game might have distracted Tavington if it weren't for the fact that his heart skipped about ten beats. He concentrated very hard on keeping his expression blank as he turned his own cards, snapping each one as he laid them out on the table.

A two, a three, a four, a five and an ace- all diamonds- a straight flush.

Tavington didn't have to say a word to his opponent for the other man to know he had lost. The look on his now blanched face was all the confirmation Tavington needed. He stood from the table and collected his winnings, leaving the tavern and the grumbling men behind him before a brawl could ensue.

And now, here he was driving a new team, hitched to a new wagon, loaded to the gills with supplies on to his new land.

He had no idea what he was getting into, and really could care less. It was more the idea of having something that was all his own. Or at least something he could make his own. He thought back to a time in a tobacco field, when he held the pink flowers of the plant in his hand, marveling over the beautiful countryside and how everything seemed to grow so effortlessly before the reality of war snapped him back to attention.

Anyone else would have cursed at what they saw when the homestead came into view through a break in the tree line. There was a cabin, albeit a small one and everything was so overgrown he could hardly tell what had been cleared and what still needed to be cleared. To William Tavington it was beautiful in a way he never imagined.

He pulled his team around to the back of the property and found a poor excuse for a barn and what looked to be like a privy.

He jumped down from the seat of the wagon and stretched. His mind immediately began to take note of conditions and prioritizing what needed done first. Tavington laughed at himself and wondered if he would ever stop thinking like a soldier. _You can take the soldier out of the army, _he thought, _but you cannot take the soldier out of the man._

The horses needed to be seen to first and Tavington measured their grain and strapped the canvas feed bags over their muzzles. Then, knowing they were itching to get out of the harnesses they had worn for so many weeks, he unhitched them and managed to find pegs on the side of the barn suitable for keeping the expensive tackle. With Sam and Sue's collars wiped down to keep the leather from rotting, he turned his attention to finding fresh water.

According to the map he was given with the deed, there was a spring a hundred yards or so to the north of the house. He dug out a yolk and brand new buckets from the wagon and went in search of it, hoping it wouldn't be too hard to find.

He found it exactly where it was mapped, and with the horses fed and now watered; he left them to graze for a while in the paddock next to the barn. He leaned against the fence and watched them, smiling with satisfaction over the first miniscule bit of farm work he'd ever completed.

It occurred to him there were few things he could want for at that moment and he hadn't even gotten into the house yet.

Tavington left the horses where they were and turned towards the house. From the outside he had to admit, it didn't look quite as bad as he thought when he first saw it. The door looked a little weathered and one of the tiny glass windows on each side had a crack in the pane. Some of the chinking would need replaced. But there was an impressive woodpile stacked neatly on the east side and he was certain it was still dry. One less thing to worry about for now.

He lifted the latch on the door and had to shove hard to get it open. He ducked inside and glimpsed around the dimly lit cabin. It looked as if it had been completely abandoned. Dust and cobwebs were everywhere but other than that, it remained untouched. There was a simple table and chairs with a lantern sitting in the middle, a bedstead in the corner that although dusty, looked as if it had just been made. There was a dry sink under another small window and a rack with a few dishes hanging on the wall. In the fireplace he found an iron crane for hanging cooking pots, a dusty ash bucket and fire poker. There was a loft that contained what, God only knew, and a ladder to reach it. He would worry about that tomorrow.

Tavington decided to clean the place up first before bringing his belongings and supplies in, taking inventory of what he had and what he would still need. It would also make it easier to decide where things should go. He started a fire in the hearth and set out for more water and before he knew it, his cabin- _his_ cabin- was well on its way to becoming his new home.

The sun was beginning it's decent into the evening sky before Tavington had his things brought into the house and squared away. Barrels of salt and flour set next to the dry sink and other food supplies were put away into wood crates he stacked to form a pantry. The floor was swept and he discovered that unfortunately he would have to settle for sharing his bed with a family of mice for that first night. No matter, he didn't care. At that point he was ready for his dinner, a quick wash and bed. After putting his horses up for the night that was exactly all that remained on his agenda.

Tavington heated some water to wash and fried up a piece of salt pork, promising himself that he would hunt for some small game on the morrow.

After eating and washing away the grit from his travels and cleaning, he rolled out his bedroll over the straw mattress of his bed. The last thing to cross his mind as he fell into a deep sleep was, _Fuck Cornwallis and his land grant!_


	2. Little Yankee

Dear readers, when I started this chapter I had everything worked out in my head about how I wanted it to flow. But I've struggled with it. So let me know what you think. And thanks for the reviews!

2.

When William Tavington woke the first morning in his new home, it was with an eagerness to meet the day that he hadn't felt in ages.

He took his time getting dressed; mentally listing the things he intended to get done that day. He combed his dark hair back, braiding it into his customary queue but instead of wrapping it as he normally did in uniform; he let it hand down his back. He also made a decision not to shave. As an officer he had been expected to and never let that part of his daily hygiene go undone. But he had no one to answer to now and by God, he decided, if he wanted to let his beard grow to his knees, he would.

Tavington made a small pot of the precious coffee he brought with his supplies. Just enough for himself to enjoy. He had also brought tea, but English or not, he much preferred the richness of coffee. Tavington had no idea if there was another trading post closer than Chillicothe or any idea of when he might be able to get in to trade again. So he would ration his coffee as well as his other supplies as only his soldier's discipline would allow.

After seeing to his horses, he left his cabin that morning with his gun and ammunition determined to have something for dinner other than hard tack and salt pork. It was a beautiful spring morning and he was certain he would find something tasty in the woods. He also wanted to explore the property a little more. And as he set off, he almost whistled.

Tavington made quick work of bagging a couple of pheasants, and after stringing them to his satchel, he consulted his map. He found the creek to the west and made the border of his land. It wasn't too far from the house-only about a half mile away and he looked forward to taking a swim after the weather warmed up.

He found his fields without any trouble, most of which were partially cleared. He knew he had his work cut out for himself though. The cleared fields were just as overgrown as the clearing around the house. But if he worked hard and fast, he could have a garden planted by May to sustain him through this first winter and his fields would be ready to plant by next spring.

As he neared his cabin once more, he felt the strange sensation of being watched. He knew there were Shawnee in the area and it was a little unsettling to think they were already making an appearance. He stopped for a moment to check that his gun was still loaded, reaffirmed that his hunting knife was still strapped to his side and proceeded on.

Tavington was busy dressing his birds outside and looking forward to roasting them over the fire when a voice behind him nearly made him jump out of his skin.

"Those are some nice lookin birds ya got there, Mr. Wallace."

Tavington turned in a combative stance, his knife gripped tightly, ready for a fight. He was shocked even more when he realized his would-be attacker was nothing more than a mere boy.

He relaxed his stance and the two continued a staring contest of sorts in silence, as if sizing each other up. The boy finally broke his gaze from Tavington and shifted uncomfortably, kicking the dirt at his feet. He was a small, scrawny looking boy with sandy hair and brown eyes. He was clean and dressed in the typical fashion Tavington had seen most children wearing near the Frontier-homespun clothing and moccasins. Half his teeth were missing and the other half were growing in, giving his mouth the look of a tottering picket fence.

Tavington wondered where this brat had come from and better yet, what he was doing there when the boy looked up at Tavington again and said, "You're not Mr. Wallace."

"No, I'm not. My name is William Tavington. And you are?"

The boy stuck his hand out in a friendly gesture until he noticed the pheasant guts on Tavington's. He tipped his chip-straw hat instead saying, "I'm Jason, Jason Mitchel. My gran'pa and Uncle Bart own the place on the other side of the creek. I live there with them and my ma and my cousin Tim. But I don't like Tim much…he's mean. I thought Mr. Wallace was back so I came over here to see him."

Jason stopped his prattling and Tavington realized the boy was waiting for him to say something in return.

"Well, Mr. Wallace sold this property to me. So, it's mine now and I'm going to be settling here."

For some reason, Tavington didn't want the boy to know he won the property in a card game. He wasn't sure why- normally he wouldn't give a fig- but he chalked it to not wanting to make a bad impression on his new neighbors.

He turned back to dressing his dinner, pulling another fistful of feathers, hoping that if he ignored the boy he would grow bored and wander back to wherever it was he came from. Then the questions began. And Tavington couldn't help but wonder if the Spanish Inquisition would have been easier to tolerate.

"Where ya from?"

"When didja get here?"

"Didja see any Indians on the way?"

"Are ya married?"

"Do ya got any kids for me to play with?"

"What kinda horses are those? They sure are pretty…."

"What kinda gun is that?"

"Can I hold it?"

"Do ya got a cow? My ma has a cow, her name's Sweetie."

Tavington answered each question accordingly and finally managed to get a couple questions in of his own. As he rinsed the pheasants and his hands in a bucket he asked, "How old are you boy?"

"Almost eight," Jason said proudly.

Tavington sighed heavenward, "Almost eight."

_God help me…. _He thought.

He turned away and started into the house saying over his shoulder, "Didn't your _ma_ ever tell you it's rude to ask a man so many questions?" Mocking the boy and his _ma_.

The little boy scampered after him. "Didn't your ma ever tell you it's _rood_ to walk away when someone's talkin to ya?" He asked mocking Tavington's accent in return. For some reason Tavington found the child's audacity rather amusing and he chuckled.

Inside the cabin, Tavington hunkered down by the hearth and rekindled the coals from that morning. He stuck the birds on a spit he purchased with his other cooking equipment. He was glad he bought it too. Cooking over a spit was something he learned as a young officer out in the field and with all the abundant game in this new territory, it would come in handy.

He looked over his shoulder to find Jason watching him intently from the open doorway.

"Well, are you just going to stand there?" Tavington asked. "Are you coming in or not?"

Jason took a few steps inside the door, looking around the cabin as he did.

"I was waiting for you to invite me in," he said.

"Now you tell me," Tavington muttered sardonically. He placed the pheasants carefully over the fire and then took a ladle of water and slowly poured it over the meat to keep it from drying out. Then, he picked a few potatoes out of his crates and after poking a hole in each one, he shoved them under the coals to cook.

He felt Jason's eyes follow him the entire time, and he wondered again what the hell the boy was doing there. It could never be said that Tavington was ever fond of children. And now here one sat invading his sanctuary. It wasn't that the boy was doing anything wrong. That is to say he was simply sitting at the table rather than milling around or snooping. But it disturbed Tavington's peace none the less.

With his dinner cooking away, Tavington continued to ignore his visitor and turned his attention to the problem of his unwanted bedmates. He picked up the ash bucket and shovel and went to the bedstead with it. Lifting each corner of the blankets, he found the corner where a family of mice was nested with a whole mess of pink, squirming babies. He scooped them out of the hole in the ticking and dumped them in the bucket.

Tavington brought them over to where Jason sat watching and asked wryly, "Should I put these on the fire for dessert?"

Jason wrinkled his nose and Tavington couldn't help but laugh.

"Would you mind taking them outside and dumping them in the tree line so they don't come back in the house?" He asked.

The boy's face perked up at the idea of actually doing something worthwhile for his new neighbor and he jumped to the task.

Tavington knelt to turn his pheasants and change the position of the potatoes so they would not burn. Jason, back from his chore, set the ash bucket down by the hearth and took up his post at the table again.

"You know what my ma does with those? He asked. Before Tavington could take a guess Jason answered for him. "She stuffs em with apples and onions. It's real good that way."

Tavington had to admit it did sound good. Nevertheless, he begrudgingly told Jason that he had no apples or even onions since his garden had not been planted yet.

"Sure ya do," Jason said brightly. "Mr. Wallace planted some apple trees years ago- a _long_ time before we ever came here. And he told my gran'pa and my ma that if we looked after the trees while he was gone, we could pick all the apples we wanted. And you know what else?"

Now Jason was smiling at Tavington as if he had the best gossip ever to share. Tavington was still a little shocked to hear he had apple trees. He probably walked right past them earlier when he was exploring the property.

"What else, Jason?" Tavington asked, now that his interest was piqued.

"I can show ya where they are and I can show ya where the ramps grow. My ma fries em with potatoes and they're so good….." Jason's words broke off almost dreamily as the boy thought of his mother's cooking. He rubbed his belly and licked his lips, making a little "mmmm.." as he did.

Tavington glanced at his roasting birds then back at the boy.

"I supposed you'll want to stay for dinner?"

"No," Jason answered, getting up and moving towards the door. "My ma'll skin me alive if I don't get home soon. But I can show ya tomorrow."

"All right then, until tomorrow," Tavington said before deciding to add, "And tell your grandfather and mother I send my thanks for taking care of the trees."

"Meh," the boy shrugged, flicking his hand as if to shoo the idea away like a pestering fly. "That's what neighbors are for."

Jason ran off in the direction of the creek before Tavington could say anything else.

When his food was done cooking, Tavington ate one of the birds along with a potato. He cleaned up his mess and set the rest of his culinary masterpiece aside for supper. He sipped on a little more of his coffee and flipped through some farm journals he had found the day before. He wanted to see what projects this Wallace person worked on during the spring season. But his mind kept going back his little Yankee visitor and some of the things he said.

Jason spoke fondly of his mother and grandfather; he readily proclaimed that he didn't care for his cousin. But what seemed to speak even louder to Tavington was that Jason didn't have much to say about his Uncle Bart and he never even mentioned his father.

As Tavington's thoughts came back full circle, he admitted to himself that Jason was likeable enough- for a child.

A/N; Just for the record...Chillicothe is derived from a Shawnee word meaning "council town." The council town was located wherever the Shawnee chief lived. While there is a city of Chillicothe in southern Ohio. The Chillicothe's of the 18th and 19th century moved from location to location according to who was chief. There was a Chillicothe located near present day Xenia and even one here in Piqua (another Shawnee settlement). But for the purpose of this story, I have also made Chillicothe as a place where settlers might be able to trade for goods. Because other than Loramie's Store (which was burned by Americans in 1782) I could not find any actual names of other trading posts in the area.

Also, ramps are wild leeks. They have a flavor of strong garlic combined with onions.


	3. Planting Seeds

3.

As the first weeks since Tavington's arrival in Ohio flew by, he found himself settling into farm life quite nicely. It surprised him a little at first, but he found that compared to camping out in the field he didn't mind the primitive lifestyle as much as he thought. It was hard getting used to the simple fact that he couldn't just ride into a town and buy or trade for what he wanted whenever he wanted. But rationing supplies and planning his every move weren't new concepts to Tavington. And as much as he hated to admit it, his new little Yankee friend was a big help.

Jason showed up at Tavington's place nearly every day- after his own chores at home were done of course. Tavington made sure of that by asking him nearly every day if his family knew where he was and if his chores were done. He didn't want anyone to be angry with him for taking up so much of Jason's time or worry if he went missing. And he figured a boy his age would have obligations on his family's farm. He also caught himself looking for Jason and maybe just worrying about the boy a bit on the rare days he didn't show. Still, Jason was there almost every day the weather permitted and stayed until Tavington sent him home or his cousin, who eventually made his appearance, came to call him back.

Tavington quickly understood why Jason didn't care for his cousin Timothy Mitchel. Timothy was a spotty, lanky boy of fourteen and he had a mean streak a mile wide. He was rude and obnoxious to Jason for no other reason other than it suited him. He was also very sneaky about it. Often acting polite towards Jason whenever he knew Tavington was in sight or within hearing range. And bullying the younger boy when he thought Tavington wouldn't notice.

In certain ways, Tavington sometimes recognized himself at that age in Timothy. When he had been away at school he could be mean-spirited towards younger, weaker schoolmates. Yet for some reason, he couldn't quite explain why he took exception to it with Timothy. It was then he decided he would do his best to protect Jason from Timothy.

Most of the time all he needed to do was glare at the teen and he would run off, leaving Jason alone for a while. Sometimes Tavington had to flat out order Timothy to leave, hoping that he wouldn't take it out on Jason after he went home. No, Tavington decided, he didn't like Timothy Mitchel any more than Jason did.

Jason seemed to have a limitless knowledge of gardening. He assisted a great deal in clearing out the old vegetable patch that had once been there and was left to fallow. He also gave Tavington many suggestions about where certain things should be planted and how. Tavington knew a few methods for planting, but Jason seemed to know what would work where and why. So he took the boys advice gratefully. What Tavington found refreshing was that as a child, Jason never seemed to ridicule his ignorance as another adult might. So in return, Tavington did his best not to mock Jason or tease the boy too much. Instead he treated him as if he were just another man. Jason responded very positively to it, and so far it seemed their partnership was working out quite nicely.

"That's not how my ma plants beans," Jason said one day as he watched Tavington place a bean seed in a row he had just dug.

Tavington was used to these statements by now and was less likely to take offense. So his curiosity was genuine when he asked, "How _does_ your ma plant beans?"

"On bean poles," the boy explained. When Tavington looked at him in confusion, Jason continued. "You gotta have bean poles otherwise they spread all over the garden and kill your other plants."

"I don't have any bean poles," Tavington stated. But he remembered seeing them from time to time in farmer's gardens during his travels. So at least he wasn't totally clueless.

"That's all right, we can make em. We'll just go out there in the woods and find some whips to cut and before you know it, we'll have bean poles," Jason said, excited at the thought of showing his friend something new.

"Dare I ask what a whip is?" Tavington asked as he rose to stand.

"Uhhh…a whip is a little tree that grows from the seeds that drop on the ground from big trees," Jason explained almost scientifically and Tavington had to bite back a chuckle.

The boy really was trying to inform him, and it was best to let him continue uninterrupted. He could almost see Jason as a professor at some great learning institution, teaching botany, smacking a pointer on a blackboard and wearing a mortarboard and oversized robes that dragged the ground behind his small frame. Tavington shifted his weight on his hip and crossed his arms, relaxing, listening to Jason school him about bean poles and trees.

Jason imitated Tavington's stance and pressed on. "But they're no good cause they never really grow any branches, so it's okay if you cut em' out," Jason said and added with an amused voice and a wry grin, "Sometimes when I'm naughty my gran'pa makes me go cut a little one for a switch. But he's never whooped me with one. He just says he's gonna add it to his collection in case he needs it."

"He must have a very large collection," Tavington replied. He could not resist the urge to tease Jason just a little bit.

"Not too big," Jason said sheepishly.

Tavington discovered that Jason had a fascination with horses and as an avid equestrian, he admired that. There were so many things he could teach the boy about them and he often used it as a reward for Jason's hard work.

Jason listened carefully to everything Tavington taught him about the equine world. And he was always eager to help out with any chore Tavington asked him to do when it came to Sam and Sue.

At first he was a bit intimidated by the large drafts and Tavington understood why. The matched Shires were much larger than any horse Jason was accustomed to. Each horse stood at about eighteen hands and weighed almost two tons. Jason's family used oxen to pull their wagon and plough. Although not as fast as the thoroughbreds and war horses he had ridden, Tavington chose the Shires because he knew they had an easy temperament and could both pull and be ridden, making them a better investment for his needs.

He patiently explained to Jason that horses are nearsighted. Because they can't see well, a person needed to keep a hand on the horse at all times while working around them so that the animal always knew where the human was. Once that was done, Jason had no trouble around Sam and Sue and soon Tavington was teaching him the basics of grooming.

Tavington showed Jason the correct way to handle curry combs and dandy brushes. He explained that Jason should always make sure that he curried the animal's coats first to remove dust and grit that could cause sores. Then he made sure Jason knew to dandy the shiny, black coats with the nap because horses didn't like having their coat ruffled any more than Jason liked having his hair tussled.

Tavington taught him how to properly groom the horse's manes, tails and the white feathers at their feet. But when it came to picking the debris from their hooves, Jason had trouble holding them in place. Sam stomped in frustration and bobbed his massive head in disapproval.

Tavington moved in, running his hand from Sam's knee, down the cannon to the fetlock, signaling Sam to pick up his hoof.

Then he told him, "Instead of holding his hoof on your forearm like I do, step into his body and brace his hoof on you knee like the Ferrier does when he shoes a horse."

He demonstrated the technique and while Jason watched closely, he took the hoof pick and cleaned Sam's hoof.

"You always pick away from the hoof," he explained. "And you see this here?" Hmmm?" Tavington said gesturing to the v-shaped bulge at the base. "That's called the 'frog' and you must always be careful when cleaning around it. It needs to be very clean so stones don't bruise the hoof, but if you poke it too hard it can lame a horse and get infected."

When Tavington looked up at the boy he was hanging on every word he said.

Tavington smiled.

Before too long a correspondence of sorts began between the boy's mother and grandfather through Jason.

Jason would show up with something or other and explain that it was from his mother or grandfather. At first, Tavington felt reluctant at taking anything from the Mitchel's. He hadn't met the rest of them yet and he wondered what their reaction would be at discovering that he had once been a British officer.

But Jason always insisted that his family would be more offended if he didn't take their gifts. Then one day Jason showed up with two of the most lovely, edible hen's eggs Tavington had seen since leaving South Carolina.

Tavington took the fragile offerings from Jason. He could hardly wait to eat them being that he hadn't had eggs in such a long time.

"Your mother knows you're giving these to me?" He asked skeptically.

"Uh huh," Jason nodded. "She raises chickens so we can have eggs. She brought em all the way here from Massachusetts. Sometime she buys new peeps when we go to town."

Tavington couldn't believe what the boy was telling him. Although he already knew the Mitchel's kept oxen and that his mother kept a Jersey heifer that they bred with another neighbor's steers for calves and milk, he had no idea they kept chickens as well. But it gave him an idea.

"Jason, would you ask your mother if I could pay her for some eggs and milk on occasion?"

"Sure," the boy replied.

"Tell her I don't have much to trade with but I'd be happy to give her coin," Tavington offered.

The next day while Tavington was splitting wood, Jason returned and informed Tavington of his mother's decision.

"My ma said if you can make do with four eggs and a pint of milk each week she'll send them over if you let her pick blueberries and apples for the whole summer whenever she wants. She said she can send more if you can keep them from spoiling."

Tavington stopped working and turned to Jason with a look of surprise.

"I have blueberries?"

"Sure ya do," Jason said. "There up on the north end of your place where the tree line breaks from the creek. They're my ma and Uncle Bart's favorite but for some reason they don't grow on our side…probably on account they don't get enough sun. They should be coming in anytime now and then you'll have blueberries coming out your ears."

Everyday Tavington was surprised at what his land had to offer. And every day he was finding new reasons to love it. He was beginning to understand why the Americans rebelled in the first place.

"I've had blueberries before while I was on the East Coast. But I had no idea they grew here as well," he told Jason.

"Mr. Tavington," Jason said incredulously, "Everything grows here."

A/N: In the late 1700's as settlers moved into the Ohio Valley, livestock was scarce. Settlers had to bring their farm animals with them from wherever they came from if they wanted luxuries such as milk and eggs and hopefully find other neighbors to breed them with to keep their livelihood going. It wasn't uncommon for one neighbor to breed a heifer with another neighbors steer in return for a calf. Even dogs and cats were precious commodities on the frontier. The US was still trying to establish their own form of currency but the money was almost worthless at the time and while British money was still very valuable, on the frontier bartering was still the preferred from of trade. So someone like Tavington would have been extremely grateful to have neighbors willing to sell or trade for dairy goods.


	4. The Mitchel's

Special thanks to my brother Jeff and to the real Esther. You're support and advice is invaluable.

I was originally going to post the next few chapters separately over the next couple of weeks. But I just can't. Once I get a chapter done I simply HAVE to post it. So because I have another project I'm working on, ya'll are gonna have to savor these until I can get back to it. It won't be too long though, I promise.

Keep the reviews coming. I love the love!

"Discontent is the first step in the progress of a man or a nation." ~ Oscar Wilde

4.

Jason Mitchel hop-stepped ahead of Tavington a few yards from where he was walking down the footpath that would lead them to the Mitchel farm.

The boy was eager to get home with Tavington as he had invited him over for dinner with the permission of his grandfather. And Jason's excitement was apparent every time the boy dashed back to him in his effort to hurry Tavington along.

Tavington was indeed interested in meeting his neighbors. Until now, their communication had always been through Jason. However, he couldn't help but wonder what their reaction would be once they discovered he was English. Maybe it would matter and maybe it wouldn't. But there wasn't anything Tavington could do about it other than ride it out and see what would happen. Although Tavington had never felt ashamed of his service to The Crown, he could only hope for acceptance and pray they had never heard of The Butcher of the Carolinas.

As Tavington and Jason continued down the path, Jason enthusiastically described all of the wonderful things his mother was making for dinner. To Tavington, who hadn't had much better than his own cooking since he left South Carolina, the prospect that someone else would be cooking his meal was very enticing. And from what the boy was telling him, it was going to be a good meal.

He told Jason that no matter what his mama made for dinner that he was grateful for the invitation.

"Why do you say _mah-maah _instead of just ma like I do?" Jason asked, again, imitating Tavington's accent.

Tavington chuckled. "I suppose because I'm English and that's what children in England call their mothers."

"I thought you said you came from South Carolina."

"I did, but I came from England first. That's where I was born and raised." Tavington explained.

Jason thought for a moment and then asked, "Why didn't ya just say so?"

"Because some people don't care for the English right now."

"On account of the war?" Jason asked.

"That's right," Tavington replied.

"But we won and you lost."

"Yes, but there are some who would rather see Englishmen like me tarred and feathered and run out of town," Tavington said mildly.

"Just because you're English?"

"Yes, Jason, just because I'm English."

"Oh, that's just small stuff and ya know what my gran'pa says?"

"I can only imagine. Pray tell, what does your grandfather say?"

"He says ya shouldn't sweat the small stuff. The thing is…. I never know what's small and what's not. But if there's nothing you can do about it, I figure it's all small stuff."

"How did you become so insightful?" Tavington asked.

Jason looked perplexed. "What's that mean?"

Tavington laughed and although he didn't know why, Jason did too.

When they reached the Mitchel property, Tavington wasn't at all surprised at how well established the place was. From what Jason had described, the Mitchel's had brought nearly all of their possessions, including some livestock with them from Massachusetts. Everything was neat as a pin, with a cabin that looked about three times the size of Tavington's, an immaculate barnyard complete with chicken coop and a nicely organized garden surrounded by a rabbit fence.

It made Tavington's place look like a disaster. But he knew that one day his property would look just as fine.

They were met on the front porch by the entire Mitchel family and Jason Mitchel beamed as he introduced Tavington to his grandfather as if the old man were King George himself.

Clifton Mitchel was a short, brawny looking man. His face was weathered from farm life and his hair was gray from age. But when he reached out to shake Tavington's hand his brown eyes held the unmistakable twinkle of mischief just as Jason's often did and he flashed the same warm smile.

Tavington had pictured Jason's mother to be a big woman, and a little harder looking from the harsh environment of frontier life. However, Esther Mitchel wasn't Tavington expected at all. As a matter of fact the first thing Tavington thought of when he first saw her was how much she reminded him of a kitten.

Her coloring was much like Jason's. Except for the fact that her eyes were more hazel in color- almost green, and tilted up at the corners, giving them a more exotic look. She was about five and a half feet tall. In a short gown and petticoats, she was a little rounder and fuller figured than the elegantly dressed, taller and lithe women Tavington was usually attracted to.

But the starched-white, old fashioned lappet cap she wore framed her small oval face giving her an almost wholesome appearance. And the way her eye-teeth kicked out ever so slightly made her look even more feline when she spoke in her husky but lyrical voice. Simply put, she was pretty and Tavington was charmed.

He also noticed how much she looked like Mr. Mitchel and when he introduced Esther as his daughter, Tavington knew it was a blood tie rather than a marriage tie as he originally assumed. The immediate assumption he made next, was that Jason must have been the result of an unfortunate youthful indiscretion. Years ago that might have mattered, but these days Tavington couldn't care less. He liked Jason a great deal no matter what he might think of his mother and would never dream of holding the circumstances of his birth against the boy.

Bart Mitchel, as he insisted on being called rather than Bartholomew, was merely a taller, younger version of his father. Broader shouldered and darker haired, Bart had more of a brooding countenance about him and although he tried not to be so judgmental, Tavington took and instant dislike to this man.

It didn't help that he was Timothy Mitchel's father. Tavington knew from personal experience that children learned what they lived. And if Timothy was a bully, more than likely he had learned that trait from his father. The fact that he caught Bart and Timothy both scowling at the rest of the Mitchel's as they tried to make him feel welcome only confirmed his theory.

Once everyone tucked in to dinner an almost peaceful chaos ensued. Everyone chatted about what they had done that day as they passed dishes around the table. It was hard for Tavington to concentrate on the conversation as well as what was being piled onto his plate. The food looked and smelled wonderful. He tried to savor it as he ate, but was interrupted with a barrage of questions from this family that was so different that his own.

As a child Tavington rarely ate dinner with his family. And as he grew old enough to be allowed at the dinner table, everything had been much more formal. There was no friendly banter over the clatter of dinnerware, only quiet polite conversation. No one ever asked him how his schoolwork was going or what he had done that day and Tavington wondered if all families behaved this way and if it was his family that had been the exception.

Then the question came that he dreaded answering. Mr. Mitchel asked him if he had served in the British army and as much as he feared the old man's reaction, he confessed that he had.

"I figured ya had. You being English and all," Mitchel told him, pushing his empty plate aside. "I served myself for a stint or two against the God damned French and the Indians back in the day."

"Is that so?" Tavington inquired. Smirking at the old man's reference to the French. He didn't care for the French much himself and he wondered if the old man knew the French has assisted the Americans in their rebellion.

"Yup," the old man answered. "Bart there was just a baby. Hardest thing I ever did was leave him behind with his ma. Esther came along after I came home."

Tavington turned to Bart and asked, "Did you ever serve?"

Somehow Tavington already knew the answer and was not surprised at all when Bart confirmed it. "Nah," he said. Then he added a bit defensively, "We were already livin here and I couldn't leave my boy like Pa did."

Tavington could read it in his eyes, this man was a coward.

Esther rose to clear the table and let the men talk a bit more and asked for Jason's help. The boy looked at his grandfather with pleading eyes but frowned when the old man gestured for Jason to do as his mother asked.

Tavington watched Jason with his mother as he sat talking with Bart, Mr. Mitchel and even Timothy. Every once in a while he would catch Esther looking at him as well, cautiously and curiously until their eyes would meet and she would turn away, blushing. He smiled to himself wondering if she was indeed just curious, or if she was actually attracted to him as he was to her.

Mr. Mitchel asked Tavington if he cared for fishing and Tavington admitted that he did. Mitchel explained to him that he had a fine set of fly rods and told Tavington that any time he cared to go he would be happy to show him some nice spots along the creek where trout were known to be run.

It surprised Tavington that a man like Mitchel would have the means and resources for such a hobby. He even told the old man so, saying that in England it would have taken connections to get him to a good fishing spot. Even then, only the wealthiest men could get permission or the equipment.

It was then that Bart piped up, scoffing, "We go whenever we want. That creek out there? It may border your property but if a man wants to fish it, he can. So long as he doesn't trespass on your banks. He could float a canoe straight down the middle if he wanted. That's just the way it is here and that's why we like it."

As much as Tavington disliked Bart Mitchel he could only agree with him. A man might be able to own property and everything on it. But who could own the water, the air or the wildlife? No one.

And then it occurred to Tavington why these American's had fought so hard for their land and liberty. From the British standpoint, England had nothing to lose and therefore could not possibly lose. But from the American standpoint, these Colonist- farmers with pitchforks- had everything to lose and fought with everything they had to win.

The Crown had certainly underestimated the Americans, as had Cornwallis and Tavington himself. And now it hit Tavington like a ton of bricks. He had fought against Americans that were simply trying to defend everything they had worked so hard for and it left him feeling conflicted about his once held belief that any civilians who helped the American troops were just as much the enemy as the troops themselves. Of course they would help them, for it was their liberty the American troops were fighting for.

Just for the record...The game laws are a good representation of the class divisions in 18th Century England. Written in 1670, the objective of the game laws was to ensure that the right to hunt was reserved exclusively for land-owning aristocracy. In order to hunt legally, one had to be qualified by owning a large estate-or roughly one half of one percent of the population. The game laws were strictly enforced and punished harshly.


	5. Neighbors

5.

As springtime edged on into summer, Tavington made slow progress with taming his land. Tavington still spent plenty of time with Jason. And he continued to enjoy the boy's company. What made that time even better was when he was accompanied by his grandfather and his mother. If Jason Mitchel had ever been a help, his mother and grandfather were even more so.

Tavington and Mr. Mitchel went on those fishing trips and often sat for hours at either man's table exchanging ideas on how to improve Tavington's land. Mitchel's fatherly charm made him easy to talk to. Although Tavington never let on to his brutal tactics he discovered that Mr. Mitchel didn't mind discussing his life as a soldier and listened eagerly as Tavington described his own experiences as a commander. He even seemed impressed to know that Tavington had been a cavalry man.

He had only known the man for about a month now but Mitchel seemed to actually care for Tavington. This led to strange emotions he struggled to deal with. His own father hadn't seemed to give him much thought and here this virtual stranger seemed to accept him as one of his own. It was a little overwhelming at times and Tavington hardly felt worthy.

Esther Mitchel not only proved herself to be a wonderful cook and housekeeper but she was also happy to share advice about gardening. She brought Tavington starts from plants from her own garden and like Jason, taught him how they should be planted. She still seemed a little shy, but was patient in explaining cultivation and propagation techniques to Tavington. It seemed like that was her language and as long as he was willing to speak it with her she was fine. But her shyness often made her seem secretive and he noticed that if he tried to deliberately flirt with her, she would shut down.

This confused Tavington. He never once had any problems with the ladies. It wasn't as if he wanted to seduce the poor girl, although he wouldn't mind a good long tumble with her. But he couldn't so much as get a toe in that door before she would slam it shut on him. It was starting to hurt his pride and he couldn't deny an attraction. She was like everything he never had in a woman and everything he never knew he wanted. She was country, and quiet, pretty and intelligent. Even though she was a mother, she had an oddly refreshing innocence about her. She _loved_ to spin and would sit for hours twisting yarns that she later used for knitting or traded for other goods. Esther could be very witty when her defenses were down and he learned quickly that she could wield a wooden spoon like a saber.

Tavington discovered that little fact one day when he was at the Mitchel's trying his damndest to engage her in a little flirtation. He nonchalantly stuck his hand in a crock of shelled walnuts in an attempt to sample them when she cracked his hand sharply with her spoon. The sting on his knuckles was enough to bring anyone to tears and at first he was a little incensed. But what more than made up for the pain was the priceless expression on her face when she scolded him and then realized her words.

"Keep your dirty hands off my nuts!"

As soon as she said it her face turned crimson and she clamped a hand over her mouth. Tavington smirked and she blushed even deeper. Then he started to chuckle and she scowled at him which only made him laugh harder. Once she understood that he was amused rather than offended she laughed too. But after that, Tavington kept his hands out of her cooking, especially when she had a wood spoon in her hand.

He figured out soon enough though, that if he left her be and let her come to him on her own, she was much easier around him. She didn't seem as nervous although she still preferred to keep her distance in the physical sense.

If he moved too close or too quickly she would move away and she rarely allowed him to touch her. Even when Tavington attempted to be chivalrous she rejected it. She might let him pull out her chair or open a door, but she never took his arm if he offered it and she _never_ let him take her hand.

It made him wonder if she had been beaten but he simply couldn't imagine Mr. Mitchel striking her or allowing his son to do so. She was a puzzle that much was certain. And as much as she rejected his gentle advances he found himself craving her attention. He even admitted to himself that he cared as deeply for Esther as he did for Jason. If he could only get her to be more affectionate with him, he decided, he would be tempted to make an offer for her.

Bart Mitchel never seemed to give Tavington the time of day, which was just fine with Tavington. In another time and place he knew that he could have brought Bart Mitchel to his knees and was not intimidated in the least by him.

He still viewed Bart as a bully and a coward. Seeing more and more every day the way he and Timothy treated Jason and Esther only proved that opinion. Tavington was no saint by any means but he could never imagine treating his own family- when he had one- with such disdain and disrespect.

Jason seemed to take everything in stride. He still enjoyed spending as much time at Tavington's place as his mother would allow. Of course once Tavington knew Bart and Timothy Mitchel a little better, he understood why. Jason felt protected by Tavington. Part of it gave Tavington a sense of pride that this boy admired him so. Yet it also made him pity the boy a little to think that a child his age had to escape his tormentors at home.

Then one day it all came to an ugly festering head.

Tavington showed Jason how to make a slingshot with twine. He demonstrated how to make the proper knots and Jason giggled as Tavington recited the rhymes that helped a man remember how to tie a bowline loop.

"Lay the bight to make a hole

Then under the back and around the pole

Over the top and thru the eye

Cinch it tight and let it lie!"

When they were done, Tavington showed Jason how to use the sling, slipping the loop over one finger and holding the tail between his index finger and thumb. He placed a stone in the little leather pouch and demonstrated an overhand and underhand throw. Then he let Jason try it out explaining that Jason must never use the sling near the house or other people and he must _never_ target something he didn't intend to eat.

Jason was so impressed with his new weapon that he left to show his grandfather. As the boy ran off, Tavington wondered if Jason wasn't about to go hunt down Goliath. Little did he know that Goliath would hunt Jason.

It wasn't long before Jason came running back bleeding from a gash in his head. Tavington was disappointed that the boy had already injured himself. He would have never made such a thing for him if he didn't think Jason could handle the responsibility. Jason was only seven, but Tavington had fired his first weapon by that age.

Then he became furious when Jason explained through his tears that it had not been a miss-fired shot and that his cousin had caused the injury. He tried to remain calm while he cleaned the wound. It was only about an inch long. But scalp wounds always bled badly and Jason was sure to have a goose egg by morning.

"Why do you think your cousin treats you so badly Jason?" Tavington asked. He used the boys own hair to tie the wound shut and then cleaned as much blood away as he possibly could.

Jason didn't think twice before he answered plainly, "It's on account of me being a bastard I reckon."

Shocked that a child so young would know such a word, Tavington squatted down in front of him and asked him eye to eye, "Do you know what word means Jason?"

"It means I don't have a pa."

Tavington took the boy by the shoulders and said, "You will never use that word when referring to yourself in my presence again. Do you understand me?"

Jason shrugged.

"Yes, Mr. Tavington. I understand you completely," Tavington said, pressing the boy to repeat it.

Jason looked at him timidly but he repeated the words. The fear on the boy's face took Tavington back for a minute. It reminded him of someone but he couldn't quite put his finger on whom. The one thing he did know what that he never wanted Jason to fear him.

Tavington shook the thought from his mind. He had other pressing matters to attend to and would have to revisit those memories at a later time. He forced a reassuring smile for Jason, hiding his fury with Timothy and patted the boy's back.

"No friend of mine ever refers to himself as a bastard, Jason. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," Jason answered.

"Now, you go water Sam and Sue and give them each a flake of hay. I need to go speak to your mother."


	6. Esther's Secret

6.

When Tavington found Esther, she was pulling laundry from a clothesline, folding the garments as she put them in her basket. She jumped when he called her name but she smiled as she turned and watched him approach.

"I have something I need to know, Esther," he said tersely when he reached her side.

Her smile faded and her brows furrowed with concern. "What is it?"

"Why does your son refer to himself as a bastard? A boy his age shouldn't be subjected to that and I want to know why you allow it!"

"When did Jason tell you this?" She asked. She scanned the yard with her eyes and added, "And where is he?"

"He's at my house where he comes every day to get away from that whelp you call your nephew," Tavington told her. "Do you know how cruel he is to Jason…hmm? Did you know he bullies the boy? I've just patched him up because he came to me with a gash where Timothy hit him in the head with a rock."

"Is he all right?" Esther tried to get past him and go find her son but Tavington stopped her when his iron grip grabbed her by the arm.

"Whoa, woman. You will first explain to me why you allow this to go on," he demanded. "I can understand if you've had an indiscretion in your youth but…"

"How dare you command me as if I'm one of your men….or one of your horses?" She spat with sudden vehemence, shrugging his hand away. "_A youthful indiscretion? _You have no idea what you're talking about! You have no idea what I've allowed or why. Do you think I enjoy living this way? Do you think I enjoy watching my brother and my nephew treat my son that way? Where else am I to go? What else can I possibly do to protect him? I don't know, William. I _just_ don't know!"

Esther picked up her basket, leaving the rest of the clothes on the line and stormed away. But Tavington was not about to let her get away so easily.

He called after her, "What do they have on you, Esther?"

She dropped the basket and whirled around to face him. The color had drained from her features and her expression was one of fear distorted by anger. She marched up to him and for a moment he thought she was going to hurl herself at him.

Esther grabbed a fistful of the front of his waist coat and nearly dragged him along behind her. She found a place near the tree line, out of direct sight from the house where they would have more privacy. Once they were secluded, she narrowed her hazel eyes at him and crossed her arms across her chest in a protective manner.

"What exactly do you want to know, William?" She asked tempestuously.

His voice came out just as cold as hers was. "Why? Why do your brother and nephew treat you and Jason with such contempt?"

Esther could not control her nervousness. It erupted in a violent trembling that made her hands and knees shake. She sat down on a fallen log and tried to collect her thoughts. After a long pause, Tavington did the same, sitting a little too close for her comfort. Close enough that even with the warmth of the day, she could feel the heat radiate from his body. Then his knee brushed against her skirts, and as she sat there wringing her hands, it dawned on her that the discomfort she felt was her problem, not his. And so she let him stay where he was and did not attempt to move away.

"You already know we came here from Massachusetts- just outside of Concord. I regret to admit it is my fault that we had to flee," she began. "And I suppose my brother still harbors resentment because of that. And that resentment has in turn, rubbed off on Timothy. I am not surprised Timothy has called Jason that….word. But I have never used it and no one else has dared to ever do so in my presence."

Esther took a deep breath and slowly released it, rubbing her temples.

She stole a glance at Tavington who waited patiently, watching her as if his ice-blue eyes could see right through her.

"I'm sorry. I don't quite know how to explain. I'm grateful for the chance to tell you the truth…..except that….this is very hard for me. It's been weighing on me these last eight years and I've never spoken of it to anyone aside from my father. And not even with him since it happened."

The only sounds came from the woods. Birds chirped and insects buzzed as if they had no idea her heart was breaking. And as Esther continued she felt a strange detachment from her words. As if someone else were speaking them instead of her.

"You see, the British had an armory nearby, and of course my father was asked- or forced actually- to house soldiers for King George's army. Just one at first, but then as the rebellion became a real threat, rather than just a cause, two more followed. A captain and two lieutenants. I will _never_ speak their names, so don't even ask."

This was the hardest part, exposing herself to a man that could destroy her with a single word of rejection. Then what would Jason do? She knew her little boy admired this man; even loved him. How would she explain if his mentor no longer wanted anything to do with him because of her?

Esther kept her eyes on her lap. She knew if she looked at Tavington she wouldn't be able to finish.

"We all tried to be as accommodating as possible. I tried to be gracious as my mother had taught me, and maybe that was my mistake. Maybe they simply misunderstood me…I don't know. I tried to make it very clear that I was not interested in _any_ of their attention but sometimes I would catch them looking at me. As young as I was I knew there was something wrong with it. A girl can sense things like that, you know? It had nothing to do with the fact that they were British, or Redcoats, or Tories, or the enemy….or whatever. It had to do with the fact that it made my skin crawl."

Esther stopped suddenly, not wanting to go on. Her eyes burned and blurred and she blinked repeatedly until they cleared.

"One night when my father was away, they caught me out in the barn. I could tell they had been drinking- they reeked of it. They…..they hurt me, William. I hadn't even had my first kiss yet and those…._men_… held me down and had their way with me. They stole my innocence and destroyed my life."

"I wanted to keep it a secret but it was so hard, William. It was _so_ hard. They were living under our roof. I had to see them every day, wait on them, and continue to treat them as guests. They disgusted me. I wanted to tear their eyes out for looking at me. I wanted to cut their hands off for touching me. I even thought about poisoning them but I was too afraid."

With those words her tears flowed freely.

"Finally when I knew I was with child I had to tell my father and of course he told Bart. My father was very understanding, but Bart…..he's never forgiven me. We couldn't make them leave and when my father spoke to their commander he laughed and said maybe I should marry the one that got me bellyful. Can you imagine such a thing?" She asked her voice thick with emotion.

Esther turned towards Tavington now to gauge his reaction or wait for a reply. He said nothing and only moved to rest his elbows on his knees. He closed his eyes, clasped his hands and brought them to his forehead, reminding her of a man deep in some kind of thought or prayer.

"Instead, we started sneaking away some of our family treasures. Nothing of worth really, just family things. Then one night when they were gone, we packed up as much as we could and came here. To get as far away from the war as we possibly could. Even here there was trouble from time to time, but not from the British. And nothing compared to what we heard was happening back east."

Finished with her revolting tale, she sighed heavily, feeling as though a huge burden had been lifted off her small shoulders. But she still worried at the same time over what Tavington might think of her now that he knew the truth.

"So now you know my shame….and Jason's. I love that boy. Some folks might think that's insane but I truly do. He saved me. All the times I thought of doing something to myself to end it all, I only had to think of him. Sometimes while the thought of how he came into the world brings me pain, he has only brought me joy. And I thank God every day that I have him as my son."

Tavington hardly knew what to say. He felt sick. If he was conflicted before, he was even more so now. As he listened to her gut-wrenching story, he felt her shame and humiliation. Women always bore the blame in situations such as this. He thought about his men and what he would have done if her father had come to him. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew in his heart that he would have said something along the same lines. He would have turned a blind eye to the actions of his men, and had actually done just that many times.

Although he had never taken a woman unwilling, he had been just as guilty by allowing it to happen in the name of victory. Yet now, he had never been more ashamed of his actions. Tavington reached for Esther's hand and was relieved when she didn't snatch it away.

"Esther," he said very calmly now. "I presumed too much. You must never blame yourself for what happened. Those men made the decision to hurt you that night. You were their hostess and should have been treated as such. But I cannot sit here and pretend to be honorable and righteous. I too committed horrible sins against the innocent by-standers of war. I even earned a reputation among them and while I'll not go into details, I cannot deny that up until very recently, I was proud of that reputation."

Esther looked at him wide-eyed but remained silent. Her face was streaked with tears and at the moment he wanted nothing more than to kiss them away and sooth her. Instead he pulled his shirt sleeve over his hand and wiped them away with the cuff, holding her chin in his hand as he did.

"I've hurt so many men and women- entire families and communities were destroyed because of my actions," he said, taking her hands again. "I don't know how God could ever forgive me. But I'm asking you to forgive me and forgive yourself for whatever you think you've done wrong. It wasn't your fault."

Tavington inched a little closer to her. They were hip to hip now and his leg was nearly covered by the billow of her skirts. Yet, she still made no attempt to move away from him and he took that as progress and continued holding her hands in his.

"I care deeply for both you and Jason. I don't want you to think that the circumstances of his birth or your past mean one wit to me. They don't. All I care about is the present and future. Not just my future but yours and Jason's as well. I know you're afraid of me right now and I don't blame you. But I'm simply asking you to give me a chance- just one chance- to prove to you that I only want good things for you and Jason."

"William," she said in almost a whisper. "will you please help me protect my son?"

Tavington put an arm around her shoulder and she sank against him, emotionally exhausted.

"Of course I will. I am not proposing marriage right now but will you allow me to court you a little? Now that everything is out in the open, we should start over," he suggested.

Esther looked up at him and voiced a concern, "And what if things don't work out? What about Jason?"

Tavington lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, causing her to blush.

"Darling, we'll just have to burn that bridge when we come to it," he answered with a smirk. Then his expression turned earnest again. "But Jason's feelings should always remain our first priority."

Esther sighed heavily and he let her relax against him once more. They sat quietly for a moment, simply relieved that they had both said what they wanted; what they needed to say. And both were contented just to be near the other without the fear and tension.

"Shall we go find Jason?" Tavington finally asked. "It's getting late and the walk back will give us some time to talk."

"Yes," she said and smiled. "I would like that."


	7. Fiddler's Green

7.

By the time Tavington left Esther and Jason by their door, it was growing dark. He thought long and hard about everything she told him and everything he told her. He wished now there was some way to take it all back. Esther had brought a face to everything. Someone he now cared about deeply had suffered at the hands of men that were just like him. All the pain and misery he once caused was now pressing on him. Now it was his pain and misery and he had no idea how to handle the onslaught on conflicting emotions he felt.

As he continued down the path towards the creek, visions flashed through his head, troubling him. Pictures of the Martin boys, the expressions on their faces as they died by his hand played out along with the expression on Ben Martin's face when he held his son in his arms after Tavington shot him.

Tavington mocked him, telling Martin that the boy was stupid. But in truth he had been the one that was stupid. He shot the boy out of reflex when Thomas threw himself into a struggle for his brother's freedom. He knew it was a mistake the instant his pistol fired. However, instead of showing remorse, he showed apathy and indifference. That was who Jason had reminded him of...Thomas Martin.

The burning of the church at Pembroke came back to him. The look of fear on the faces of the villagers assaulted his memory. Wilkins was right to question his authority that day. There was no honor in what he'd ordered the Dragoon to do and he knew it. There was no justification in it either. He had done it to draw out Ben Martin and there was no justification for the deaths of so many people. He had done it out of greed for the things Cornwallis held over his head. It was as simple as that.

Those actions in turn caused Martin's men to seek him out within hours. And when the militia found him and his men camped out by a creek, they came with a vengeance. Although they were all killed, most of his men were killed in the attack as well, including his second in command Captain Marcus Bordon.

Bordon fought hard to defend himself as well as Tavington when Gabriel Martin stabbed the officer in the chest, killing him instantly. Tavington's mind ran through a lifetime of military training. Training that taught such losses were common, acceptable, and sometimes necessary. But his heart now wept at the pain he had caused those people. Knowing that his order to burn the church had spawned the attack only left Tavington feeling guilty for Bordon's death.

Tavington had been responsible for _all_ of it. He understood that soon he would have to make a decision on the direction of his life. For so long he had been selfish and arrogant, putting his own needs and his duty to The Crown above all else. It had gotten him nowhere. He could no longer continue with such attitudes.

Tavington never noticed himself slogging through the creek- not even bothering to use the log bridge or step over the rocks- until he came to the other side. He looked up to find himself on a dusty road and wondered if he had gotten himself lost for a moment. The strange thing was, it was now daylight and he could have sworn it was well past sunset when he entered the woods.

The road seemed to call him on until he came to a strange village. Confused, Tavington trudged on, wondering exactly where he was. He thought everything looked strangely familiar but he couldn't pinpoint when or if he had ever been there before. He knew of no village near his land. Never mind the fact that he should have been home by now.

The village was oddly quiet with no sign of anyone around. There were taverns and inns but the normal businesses that occupied most of the villages and towns he'd frequented were absent.

Tavington made his way down the street past the edge of town to where the road forked off to a smaller path. At first, he thought to stay on the main road but something inside him drew him to the path. He continued walking and soon found himself on the edge of a great bluff that looked over a vast ocean.

There was no sound from the great waves that crashed on the rocks below. No birds chirping or even an ocean breeze. Just sun and the smell of salty sea air.

Tavington felt a presence behind him and turned to find a burly looking man standing a few yards away. He was smiling and at first glance Tavington hardly recognized him. And then it hit him….

_"Bordon?" _He questioned in a horse rasp. The man's smile widened into a grin.

"Hello, Colonel," Bordon said. "I've been waiting for you."

Tavington hesitantly walked towards his old friend, hardly believing who it was he was seeing. Captain Bordon waited patiently as Tavington looked him over in disbelief. Tavington was almost awestruck. He hadn't seen Bordon since the day he died. That had been over two years ago. But what was he doing here? And where the hell were they?

"I thought you were dead, Bordon," Tavington said.

"No one is really dead here, sir," Bordon replied in the rich voice that Tavington was so familiar with.

He reached out and touched Bordon on the shoulder as if he needed some type of confirmation that he was not imagining things. When his hand made contact with the sleeve of his friend's shirt, a strange chilling sensation crept its way up Tavington's arm, making his hair feel as though it stood on end. He jerked his hand away and Bordon chuckled.

"Am…I _dead_?" He asked.

Bordon laughed now. "Hardly," he answered.

"Am I dreaming?"

Bordon shrugged, "Are you?" Then Bordon turned and began to walk down the path Tavington had just come from. He glanced back over his shoulder and asked, "You coming or not?"

Tavington jogged to catch up to his friend calling after him, "What is this place?"

When he reached Bordon and the two were side by side, Bordon answered, "You're in Fiddler's Green, Tav old boy."

Tavington had once heard an old legend about a place called Fiddler's Green and he now racked his brain trying to remember what the legend said.

"Fiddler's Green where soldiers and sailors go when they die, is it not? A type of paradise for them?"

"Yes," Bordon answered as if surprised that his old commander remembered the tale. Then he smiled again. "We end up here because Heaven won't have us and Hell is afraid we'll take over."

"If I'm not dead, Bordon, then what am I doing here?"

"I called you here, Colonel," Bordon said. He slung his arm around Tavington's shoulder in a friendly gesture. Tavington shivered at the sensation it caused and Bordon threw his head back with laughter. "We have much to discuss, you and I."

Suddenly it was night again and they were standing in a clearing where a celebration of sorts was taking place. There was a huge bonfire and soldiers and sailors- some dressed in uniform, some not- were playing instruments, dancing and singing in merriment.

Bordon passed a pretty, young looking wench and took a jug of cider from her just as another appeared in her hand. He led Tavington over to an unoccupied spot and they sat on the ground in the warmth and light of the fire, resting their backs against a fallen log.

"All those years we served together Tav and not once have I ever seen you doubt yourself so much as you do now. Why? Why are you so conflicted about this love that you feel for the boy and his mother?" Bordon boldly asked.

Tavington had never known Bordon to be so blunt and at first it shocked him. He had to remind himself that whatever this was, it could not possibly be real and he was no longer Bordon's superior. However, he didn't know what to say.

"You do love her, don't you?" Another familiar voice asked and Tavington turned his head to see Corporal Gabriel Martin sitting right next to him. He jumped in surprise. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach and his mind reeled.

"Y..Yes," he gasped.

Gabriel and Bordon laughed and Bordon looked across Tavington saying to Gabriel, "I told you he'd damn near shit himself if you showed up."

Bordon passed the cider to Gabriel who took a swig and then handed it off to Tavington who absently took a swig for himself. He blinked and took another swig before saying to both men with rushing words, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I killed you, Corporal…. and I'm sorry for your brother and wife. I'm sorry that my actions got you killed Bordon. You were the closest thing I ever had to a best friend. I never wanted you to die protecting me."

"You were fighting for your life, Colonel. I meant to see you die that day," Gabriel explained. "But what's done is done and we can't change that. I harbor no resentment towards you now. It's not like that here. Those things are all forgotten."

"What matters now, sir," Bordon broke in, "Is that you make it right. You love this woman and you love her son. You know an injustice has been done to both of them. Make it right... for us."

"Yes….yes, I'll make things right for them," Tavington agreed with a nod. He didn't know how he would accomplish that, but he felt a new determination brewing inside his very soul.

Another man then walked up. Although Tavington never knew his name, he recognized him as a Continental he had once slain in battle. He looked well- they all looked well. Looking down at Tavington he said, "There's a reason you survived Cowpens, you know? You were given a second chance to live _for_ a reason. The card game, Ohio, all of it was for a reason. Nothing is ever left to chance."

A fifth joined them and said, "Everyone here was in your life for that reason, just as I was. Just as you are in Esther and Jason's life now. Someone has plans for you William. It's up to you to discover what that reason might be. But now…. it's time to go."

Tavington stood to follow the fifth man, but then stopped to protest. "Wait…there are so many things I want to ask….so many things I need to say…"

"Now is not the time, William. You don't belong here yet. It's time to go," the man said as he led him away.

William turned around to bid farewell to his friends. They were all friends now he supposed. Fellow soldiers, brothers in arms. It didn't matter what side they fought for anymore. But when he looked back, they were gone.

The remaining soldier led him back to the fork in the road and explained that this was where he must leave him. It dawned on Tavington now who this man was. A much younger, robust version of Clifton Mitchel.

"Mr. Mitchel?" Tavington said in astonishment. "But…you're not dead."

His guide smiled gently at him and squeezed his arm, once again sending a chill through his spine. He gave Tavington a look that almost spoke of regret and said, "It's time to go now."

Tavington flinched at those final words and found himself sitting at his own table. An uneasiness settled over him and his dark cabin possessed an eerie silence.

He pulled out his pocket watch. It was well past three in the morning. And although his heart told him something wasn't right, Tavington dropped on his bed and slept.

Half way down the trail to Hell,  
In a shady meadow green.  
Are the souls of all dead troopers camped,  
Near a good old time canteen.  
And this eternal resting place,  
Is known as Fiddlers' Green.

Marching past straight through to Hell,  
The Infantry are seen.  
Accompanied by Engineers,  
Artillery and Marines.  
For none but shades of the Cavalrymen,  
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.

Though some go curving down the trail,  
To seek a warmer scene.  
No Trooper ever gets to Hell,  
Ere he's emptied his canteen.  
And so goes back to drink again,  
With friends again at Fiddlers' Green.

And so when man and horse go down,  
Beneath a saber keen.  
Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee,  
You stop a bullet clean.  
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,  
Just empty your canteen,  
And put your pistol to your head,  
And go to Fiddlers' Green.

So there you go...And I'm sorry if it seems as though I've left you with a cliffie. You all know you love me and the wait will be worth it!


	8. Sway

8.

When William Tavington woke the morning following his bizarre experience with in Fiddle's Green, he still couldn't decide exactly what it was he had been through. A dream? A hallucination? Whatever it was, it had left him anxious and unsettled and the first thing he felt he needed to do was speak to Mr. Mitchel.

He was relieved to find the old man safe and sound at his home and used the excuse of planning another fishing trip as his reason for visiting. There were a few matters he wanted to clarify in private without Bart sneering at every chance.

That Sunday, when the two were finally alone during their walk to the creek, he brought up the experience. Not just to gauge Mitchel's reaction to the whole thing, but also as a catalyst to discuss the man's daughter.

"I have to tell you, sir that I'm quite relieved that you are well. I had a rather disturbing dream the other night and wondered if I would wake to find you had passed," Tavington said.

Mitchel cut him off with a wave of his hand, "I don't even want to know. I have lived a full life. Outlived my wife…but I've raised my children and seen my grandkids and that's enough for me."

"You are not afraid of dying?"

"No I can't say that," Mitchel said with a chuckle. "Death doesn't scare me, but the dying part, yes. I wouldn't mind so much going to sleep one night and never waking. But I never wanted to die on the battlefield away from my family as my brother did." He shook his head and then he added almost as an afterthought. "And the thought of drowning disturbs me…."

"Yes, I see your point," Tavington said almost awkwardly.

It was strange in a way to be talking about death and dying so openly with his new mentor. As they walked Tavington even disclosed to Mr. Mitchel his own near death experience at Cowpens and how fortunate he was to survive it. Mitchel never said a word or interjected at any time. He simply let Tavington speak. Tavington gave a watered down explanation of the injuries Ben Martin had caused and why. Not once did Mr. Mitchel let on that he judged Tavington for it. And a very relieved Tavington chalked it up to the fact that Mitchel had served in a very brutal war himself, leaving it at that.

Tavington wondered if he would have ever been able to discuss such things with his own father, and if that kind of discussion would have prepared him for his father's eventual passing. But considering his father had barely prepared him for life let alone death, Tavington seriously doubted it. "I think if it were left up to mankind we would all die doing whatever it is that pleases us the most….but that's not the only reason I brought it up, sir."

"No?" Mitchel asked with a sideways glance.

"No," Tavington said. "The dream it….it made me evaluate some things. And I've finally realized that I need to change direction in my life. Coming to Ohio was a start that much is certain. But I want more than this. Not in the material sense mind you…."

Mitchel cut him off again, "A man your age would want to start a family."

"Yes."

Mitchel stopped in the middle of the path and turned to Tavington, frowning. "And what has that got to do with me?"

"I would like your permission to openly court your daughter. With the goal of marrying her, of course," Tavington said, meeting the old man's gaze eye to eye. He secretly hoped that Mitchel would not deny him because of the things he had just confessed about his past.

Mitchel sighed heavily and hesitated with his reply. "There are things about Esther you might not understand…."

This time it was Tavington who interrupted. "She has told me about what happened in Concord…about the circumstances of Jason's birth. And I accept that."

Mitchel brows rose with his astonishment. "She told you, eh? And she knows what your intentions are?"

"Yes, sir," Tavington nodded. "Although I haven't formally proposed to her, she knows what my intentions are and that I care for her and your grandson."

Mitchel started to walk on saying, "Well then, I suppose that settles it." Then he stopped again and turned to say, "If you hurt her or my grandson, I'll see you dead, Tavington. It's bad enough the way Bart and his boy treat them- it's a lot like living in a war zone. But I won't have it from the man that promises to honor and cherish her. And if you take her as your wife, you take Jason as your son too."

Tavington smiled. "I understand completely, sir."

Now the task at hand for Tavington was figuring out a _how_ he would court Esther. He knew that the tactics he had used in the past would never do. Tavington had never courted a woman before, let alone with the intentions of marrying her. So this was a new concept for him as well as for Esther. In the past he had simply seduced the object of his desires whenever he felt the need for a sexual encounter. And if he failed with one woman, he paid another for it. However, Esther was no object, she was wife material.

Tavington had managed to take her flowers one day under the guise of helping Jason pick them for her. That small effort had gotten him a glare from Bart, a wink from old man Mitchel and a knowing smile from Esther. Tavington thought things would be easier now that they had spoken and gotten things out in the open. But he found that while Esther seemed less intimidated by his advances, he seemed to worry more about making an ass of himself.

Soon enough the insane Ohio weather gave Tavington the plenty of opportunity to plan his next move. Summer storms passed through off and on for three days, making work almost impossible and even keeping Jason away.

As he stood in the doorway of his cabin watching the warm summer rain pour from the sky, he thought about what Esther and Jason might be doing. Knowing Esther, Tavington thought she was probably at her spinning wheel or perhaps helping Jason with his lessons at the table. Then later she would make her way out to the barn to milk her beloved Sweetie, whom she treated more as a pet than anything else. It was with that thought that an idea began to form in Tavington's mind.

Tavington checked his watch, finding that he had time to put his plan into effect. He stripped off his shirt and pulled out a fresh one from his trunk along with his shaving kit.

After removing the rest of his clothes, he grabbed his good soap-not the odd smelling lye soap- and stepped outside. Tavington stood under the eave at the corner of his cabin and the downpour of rain coming from the roof made for a quick and easy bath. Once finished, he went back inside, dried off and began the task of removing his beard. He had already decided the beard had to go. It itched and was too patchy in places and this was the perfect time and reason to get rid of it.

With his beard gone, his hair combed and tied back, Tavington dressed in his new uniform of sorts; shirt, waistcoat, breeches, boots, hat. He grabbed a coat, but only to guard against the rain and left for the Mitchel's, dodging puddles along the way.

The creek was high from the rain, but not so high he couldn't cross over the rocks. And when Tavington arrived at the Mitchel's he snuck around into the barn and waited, peering through the crack in the door. He watched for Esther and when he saw her coming across the barnyard with her cloak pulled over her head, he peeped his head out and opened the door for her. Esther looked up and saw him. She stopped in surprise for a second, her face lighting up with a smile as she picked up her steps to reach him.

Once inside, she shook the rain off her cloak and tossed it over the side of a stall where his coat lay. Breathlessly she asked, "What are you doing out here?"

"I came over to see you," Tavington answered mildly.

"You could have come to the house," Esther said as she pulled her milking stool over to where Sweetie was waiting patiently. She gave Sweetie a fistful of hay, wiped the heifer's teats with a clean rag and set her milk pail under the udders.

"I wanted to speak to you privately."

"Oh?" She asked in mild amusement. He was up to something and she knew it. "So speak to me."

"I'll wait until you're done."

Tavington came around to watch what she was doing and made small talk. "What breed of cow is this?"

"Sweetie's a Jersey cow," Esther said giving the heifer a pat on her belly. She leaned in and rested her head against Sweetie's side and began milking. The milk made a hissing sound as the streams hit the bottom of the pail. "Jersey's come from France. Ain't that right, Sweetie."

The golden-brown heifer looked back as if she actually understood what her lady was saying.

"Does she moo with a French accent?" Tavington teased sarcastically. Esther rolled her eyes at him.

It wasn't long before Esther finished and she salved the heifer's teats to keep them from getting sore. She stood up, moving the pail out of the way so that it would not be knocked over. Esther turned to face Tavington and it was then she noticed something different about him.

"William…you shaved," she said stepping closer to see his new look.

His lips curved into an amused smirk. "So you noticed? It had to come off, I couldn't stand it anymore."

Esther reached out, passing her fingertip over the new smoothness of his cheek. The touch was completely innocent and yet it had a strange effect on him. For a moment, Tavington held his breath until she took her hand away.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" She asked, snapping him back to attention.

Tavington look at her sweet face, trying to find the right words to say without scaring her. "Well, I seem to remember you mentioning that you have missed out on a few things since coming to Ohio."

Esther looked puzzled. "I did?"

"You mentioned you never had a first kiss. I think we should remedy that," Tavington answered coyly, watching her reaction carefully.

Esther blushed furiously. "So I did." And then her heart skipped because she knew then that he wanted to kiss her. He was standing so close and she knew she wanted to kiss him too. But she had no idea how badly until it happened.

Esther felt his hands grasp her waist and slowly pull her closer. Then his face was above hers and he smelled _so_ good. His brilliant blue eyes were heavily lidded as he bent his head to kiss her. Esther instinctively raised her hands to his shoulders and closed her eyes just as his lips came down on hers. The warming effect it had on her was instant, causing a shock throughout her body all at once.

Esther had no idea what to do and Tavington could sense it. She didn't know how to kiss or what to do with her mouth. So, he would just have to teach her.

Tavington pulled back slightly and took her lips in small, persistent kisses until she followed his lead, copying his movements. When her lips parted over his, he seized them, sealing his mouth over hers. He deepened his kiss when he felt her respond to him and he let his hands briefly rove over her back. He would not take it any further than that though. He knew if he did, he may not be able to stop himself.

Tavington finally broke the kiss and drew his head back and watched Esther slowly open her eyes. She gazed up at him and sighed tremulously.

"Well?" He asked, raising his brows expectantly.

Still dazed, Esther could only nod her approval.

A catch of laughter escaped him. "You should probably get back to the house. Everyone will wonder where you are."

"Won't you come with me?" She asked, adding to temp him, "I made bread pudding."

Tavington draped her cloak around her shoulders and handed the milk pail to her. And as much as he would have liked to go with her, he turned her down, knowing she would think about him as much as he thought of her once he was gone. "I think I've had enough sweets for the day."

He escorted her out of the barn and made his way home, feeling pretty damn good about himself.


	9. Awaken

9.

It had been almost a week since Esther Mitchel accepted her first kiss from William Tavington. It had also been that long since she had seen hide or hair of him. Now as she readied for bed she sat reflecting about the past week and that first kiss.

When she had gone back into the house that rainy day she tried very hard to appear her usual self. Inside she was a whirlwind of emotion. Esther had been surprised to find William waiting in the barn for her. Nevertheless, she realized it was a pleasant surprise and she could barely contain herself when he said he came just to see her. She couldn't remember a time when anyone had done that. Even the few suitors she had long ago in Massachusetts had never tried to visit her like that. When William kissed her, well, the barn could have fallen on her head and it would not have stunned her more.

Esther had thought about that kiss all week and even then, as she sat brushing out her hair, she caught herself stopping to press her fingers to her lips as if she could still feel it.

She wanted so badly to trust him, to let him make her his. She had always wanted to get married and have children, to be someone's wife and helpmate. But she thought that once she had Jason, it would probably never happen. A potential husband might have been willing to overlook the fact that she had been soiled, but no one would ever accept Jason. Now here was this man that seemed to care for her son almost as much as she did and was interested enough to pursue her, yet she felt more vulnerable than ever.

There was also a part of Esther that had trouble understanding why he was so interested in her. She had never thought of herself as a pretty girl- contrary to what her father always said. Her suitors back East were just young lads and none of them had ever taken her seriously. The only logical thing Esther could reason out was that William was seeking a woman that was experienced with frontier life, and if anything, she was certainly that.

Esther spoke to her father about William, almost seeking his blessing. When Mr. Mitchel informed her that William had already asked permission to call on her and court her, she knew she had it. Her father seemed more surprised that Esther was willing to accept William's courtship, knowing how his daughter feared most men.

When she questioned him about his thoughts on William's past he simply reminded her that everyone had to swim upstream sometimes and that what was most important was William's willingness to change his ways for the sake of their future. It was obvious her father held some sort of respect for William and it gave Esther comfort in knowing he had her father's good opinion.

As Esther turned her bed down she heard a faint clicking sound. She looked over at Jason who was sound asleep when she heard it again. It came from the window. She looked at the glass pane just as something struck it a third time. When she looked outside, there was William standing in the yard below. He saw her and motioned for her to come down.

Esther pulled her wrapper on over her cotton nightgown and grabbed her candle lantern. She painstakingly climbed down from the loft and snuck out the door, careful not to let it slam behind her.

She padded quietly towards him with bare feet across the dew covered grass to the sound of the cricket's serenade. Her heart pounded but she wasn't sure if it was because of William or this clandestine meeting they were about to share.

William stood there like a statue in the moonlight holding his hand out to her. His dark breeches and boots contrasted with the starchy whiteness of his shirt, which was open at the collar. His hair was down and that surprised her. Even when she saw him dirty from the fields William always had certain neatness about him, and he certainly always kept his hair back. For a moment she wondered if something was wrong. What would bring him here so late at night?

His dark lashes shadowed his cheeks as he gazed down at her hand when she took his. He stroked it with his thumb, bringing his eyes up to meet hers and quietly said, "I was about to go to bed when I realized I haven't seen you all week."

Esther could hardly contain her smile, so she teased him. "So you tossed pebbles at my window like a schoolboy?"

"I couldn't very well knock on the door, could I?" He asked his face still quite serious.

"No, I suppose not."

They stood there in silence for a moment, both of them wanting to say something to drive away the awkwardness they each seemed to feel.

William took the lantern from her hand and set it on the ground next to their feet. Then he pulled her closer. Esther wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. Part of her wanted to be closer to him but there was still a small voice in the back of her mind that told her to run, that this could only end badly, that he might hurt her. She told the voice to shut up and accepted his warm embrace.

"Have you been missing me as much as I have missed you?" He asked casually tilting his head.

William's hand skimmed up her back and she suddenly felt naked with just a simple nightgown and wrapper. Esther stiffened, unable to control her reaction, her forearms tightly guarding her chest. She fought to force herself to relax, not wanting to be afraid.

"Yes," she admitted, opening her fists so that her palms lay against the firmness of his chest. "I was beginning to wonder if you were having second thoughts about me."

He smiled in the way Esther was beginning to become accustomed to. Not with his mouth so much as his eyes. Although his lips curved slightly along with the tiny wrinkles that deepened at the corners of the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

"No," he said. "With all the rain I had some work to catch up on."

"Oh," Esther replied faintly.

It was only response she could seem to manage at that point. She felt captivated by him in a sense that she had not felt in the days before he had kissed her. Yet she realized as much as she wanted this from him- the attention and affection- she was still afraid. She knew what it was that men could do to women. She knew what this man could do to her with ease if he wanted to. But instead of pushing him away, she leaned into him. Daring him, she raised herself on her toes until the tip of her nose touched his.

William moved slightly, catching part of her upper lip with his, tugging it, as if to coax her closer. She fell into the kiss, softly at first, absorbed in the growing feeling of such a simple touch. Then emboldened, Esther took his lips fully and when his tongue came seeking, she allowed it. He flicked it past her lips dissolving any trepidation she had left. Slowly with hands and tongue, he stroked away the years of loneliness she never knew she felt until now.

Esther had never known the enjoyment of being held and kissed in such a way. Now her heart awakened to the idea that things like this could be different with him than she thought they could be. There was nothing dirty or ugly about it. No revulsion or crawling of skin. Just the feeling of being swept away by his presence and an aching for more. More of what, she had no idea.

Suddenly William made a rough sound and arched away from her. He took her hands away from where they rested on his chest, breaking the kiss. His breathing was unsteady and she couldn't be sure if it was his or her hands that were shaking.

Esther recalled vividly the look of satisfaction William held when he kissed her in the barn. He didn't carry that expression now. Instead, his face held a look of confusion. He held her hands so tightly now the grip was almost painful.

"I think you should go inside now," he said huskily.

"But why?" Esther protested. She tried to push herself back into his arms but William held her back.

"Because if you don't," he replied severely, "I'll end up doing something we'll both regret."

She searched his face for a moment, not quite sure what he meant by that. When he stared back at her rather intently, his blue eyes seemed to bore into her, offering her no comfort or consolation and she reluctantly conceded. William picked up her lantern and handed it to her. Giving her one last tender kiss, he nudged her towards her door.

William promised to call on her as soon as he could and waited until she was in the house. Esther was relieved that Jason had not woken while she was gone. She went to the window to wave goodnight to William and felt slightly disappointed to find he had already disappeared into the darkness.

As he stalked off into the night, Tavington was utterly astounded at what had just occurred.

He had sought Esther out with the intention of wooing her a bit. He simply wanted to bring her around to what she might have missed out on when her innocence was stolen from her. Instead he felt he had unleashed something in her. In handing her the reins, he had inadvertently raised an ardor for her in himself that he had never felt for a woman before. Tavington knew this was no seduction, this was forever. And if he didn't control himself, he could hurt her and ruin everything he was trying to rebuild in her one slow but steady step at a time.

Esther had surprised him when she initiated that kiss. With his arms around her, he could feel the lushness of her body under the flimsy cotton nightgown she wore. Her hair looked beautiful the way it fell about her shoulders and down her back. The smell of her, the taste of her, the feel of her nearly drove him to madness. It amazed him how soft she was beneath his hands; how good she felt pressed against him. Had it just been any other woman he would have taken her right there. She was nearly twelve years his junior, but Esther had left him shaking like an untried teenaged lad. He wasn't sure he liked that.

When he reached the creek he stopped and pulled of his boots. He sat down in the water and then laid back, letting the frigid current wash away the lurid thoughts about her that rambled through his mind.

_Damn! Damn! Damn!_

Tavington scowled, realizing that his old friends Bordon and Tarleton would be laughing their arses off if they could see him right now.


	10. Provoked

10.

Two weeks after the midnight rendezvous, Tavington still seemed to be in a daze. And although he had vowed not to let the situation with Esther get out of control again, it did. Several times.

He made the mistake of underestimating his intended. Which by now, she was since he had formerly made an offer to Mr. Mitchel. The old man gladly agreed to the match and Esther happily accepted his proposal. William didn't care about Bart or Timothy's opinion but the one person he expected to be elated with the news, actually seemed indifferent. And that was Jason.

The couple agreed they would be married that fall when everyone would make the trip into Chillicothe. It would be convenient since they would all have to go anyway for winter supplies and it would give William time to make his house ready for his new family.

But he and Esther still found time for stolen moments and soon it became more difficult to tear himself away from her. Esther found she liked the attention. It stirred her passion. It stirred it to a level which he never imagined she possessed. And with each encounter she became more bold and harder to resist. Which confused the hell out of Tavington because for once, he was trying to do the unselfish thing for someone. For once, he was putting someone else's wellbeing above his own and it was blowing right back in his face like a rotten stench. Her natural curiosity about her sexuality was doing his head in.

Tavington was still working hard to catch up on his long neglected property. His fields were all turned and his garden was doing well. There was no doubt he would have enough food for winter. He had even managed to salvage his hay field which would keep him from having to purchase it from someone else. Tavington eventually turned his attentions to shoring up his barn and privy and re-chinked his cabin using clay from the creek beds, mixing it with sand to form a crude mortar. All with Jason's help, of course.

Jason was still very eager to help William. However, William noticed the boy didn't seem as lively or talkative as he once was. He thought maybe the novelty of having a neighbor so close by had worn off. Then he thought it might be because Jason had lost another tooth and was embarrassed about the way the missing tooth made him lisp. And finally one day, Jason fessed up.

"Can I ask you a question?" Jason asked one day while he was helping Tavington muck out his stalls. It was almost like music to Tavington's ears.

"You _may_ ask me a question, Jason."

The boy looked at him thoughtfully. "Are you really gonna marry my ma?"

"Wouldn't you like that?" Tavington asked.

Jason crossed his arms over his chest rather guardedly. "Just tell me the truth."

"Yes, Jason. I really am going to marry your mother," he answered.

Jason's face changed. He frowned and pressed his lips so tightly his chin puckered. He was clearly upset but Tavington couldn't understand why.

Then Jason blurted, "But what about me?"

The boy's eyes welled up and it clicked. In all the excitement about the upcoming marriage, no one bothered to ask Jason how he felt. Or even explain that he was part of the deal. Poor Jason. Tavington felt horrible.

He crouched down in front of Jason but he didn't touch him. The little boy was clearly in a defensive mode right now and Tavington was afraid he might run.

"Jason, did you think your mother and I were going to leave you behind?"

Jason didn't have to answer; Tavington could see it on his face. But he wasn't surprised one bit when Jason told him why he was worried about it.

"Tim said you wouldn't want me here because I'm not your boy. He said step-fathers don't like other men's boys," Jason said.

Tavington was really starting to hate that little son of a bitch Timothy Mitchel.

But instead of scowling over it, he forced a smile and took Jason by the shoulders, pulling him closer.

"Jason," he began. "You're mother and I have already decided this and I'm sorry we failed to mention it to you. We should have been more considerate of your feelings. But you will come and live with me and you mother. You may not be my boy, but you are my friend and I never leave my friends behind."

And then Tavington did something he had never done before. He pulled Jason closer and gave the little boy a hug. He patted his back and decided if only to himself, that Jason was his boy, no matter what anyone said. And even if he couldn't be Jason's natural father, he would do his best to be a good father. Even though he knew he had no idea how to make it happen.

That may have taken care of Jason but it still left Tavington with one more issue to deal with. And that was Esther and an argument they had one day that became his undoing.

Mitchel had left one morning to take a calf to a neighbor for trade and he had taken Jason along for the ride. With his own work mostly finished, it gave Tavington and Esther some much need time alone and they had found a nice spot near the creek to picnic and engage in a few kisses and cuddles.

But soon, as he should have known, they became a little carried away and a few kisses and cuddles turned into some heavy petting. And when Tavington tried to put a stop to it, Esther began to make things very complicated.

Tavington felt Esther slip her fingers to the buttons of his breaches.

"I want to touch you," she whispered.

"Hell no," William said sharply, quickly jerking her hands away. "For God's sake, woman, I can barely control myself as it is. If you touch me I won't be able to stop myself from finishing this."

Esther writhed helplessly in his arms, "I want you to."

"I know that," he told her. It was pretty damn obvious. "But I'm not going to. Now is not the time or place for this."

"William," Esther whined fitfully. She tugged in vain at her wrists. "I need you….please do something, I'm aching."

Tavington couldn't believe what she was saying. How many time had he said those exact words to a lady he was trying to seduce? He couldn't help but wonder if he was experiencing some kind of personal hell.

He pulled her skirts down and pushed her off his lap saying through clenched teeth, "No."

Then he got up from the ground, dusted himself off and started toward his house, trying to escape her. But much to his frustration, she wouldn't let him. Instead, she followed, running to keep up with his long strides, arguing all the way.

"You can't have it both ways!" Esther shouted. "You can't kiss me and touch me like that and then push me away whenever you like. It's humiliating!"

"I didn't mean to humiliate you, Esther. But I know when something is a bad idea. And bedding you before we marry is a very bad idea." he said. Then he stopped and turned to her. "I want this to be right for you, Esther."

"William, it's not as if I'm some blushing virginal bride," she argued.

He snorted a laugh and continued towards home. "Yes, essentially you are."

"Stop being a tyrant!"

Her contemptuous tone grated his nerves.

"Stop being a child!" He shot back. "I am eleven years older than you and I'm about to become your husband. You will _not_ speak to me that way _ever_ again!"

When Tavington finally made it back to the house he flung the door open and stormed inside. It was his only refuge and even now she was trying to invade it. He blocked the door and she glared at him.

"And what if I were to get you with child, hmm? What then?"

She tilted her head, crossed her arms and mocked him, "We'll just have to burn that bridge when we come to it, _darling_."

Here he was, trying to do the honorable thing, and she wasn't even grateful.

"So, the kitten has claws." He leaned forward within inches of her face. "I could have seduced you….easily…but I didn't. And do you know why?"

His question was met with defiant silence.

"I'll tell you," he hissed. "I stopped out of respect for you. I want things to be right for you and Jason."

"A few years ago," he shrugged. "I wouldn't have cared. Hell, a few months ago I wouldn't have cared. But I love you, Esther. And I have never said that to another person in my life. _Ever_."

Her eyes turned sad and Tavington tried to ignore the knot of guilt in his belly.

"I'm not afraid anymore, William….and I love you too. I know you want me and I want you," she said softly.

William did want her. He wanted her more than any woman he had ever wanted before. He wasn't certain if that was because of how he felt for her, or if it was because of the discipline he had been trying to restrain himself with. Which ever the case, he was loosing his grip.

"So help me God, woman, you step one toe over that threshold and I'll take you seven ways from Sunday," he threatened.

"I thought the saying was six was from Sunday? She challenged.

William narrowed his eyes at her, bracing his arms on the doorway and said menacingly, "I'll take you on Sunday too."

Esther stood there demurely, reading him, trying to decide if he was serious or not. William could have swore he saw a faint smile cross her lips and then his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as she silently shifted and placed the point of her moccasined toe on the wood floor between his feet.

_Shit!_


	11. Over The Line

11.

Before Esther could even register his reaction to her latest provocation, William snatched her up and slammed the door shut behind them. He pinned her against it and kissed her. His kiss was not kind. It was hard and demanding. William wondered if he might be frightening her but he didn't care anymore. Esther had finally pushed him too far and his days of holding her and loving her gently like he was some kind of damned eunuch were over. He drove his tongue into her mouth, but the taste of her only made William more desperate to have her.

For a moment Esther was indeed frightened. When his mouth crashed down on hers she worried that maybe she had bitten off a little more than she could chew. Her hands being pinned to the door in William's iron grip only added to her anxiety level and she turned her head away, breaking the kiss so she could speak. It was a sorry attempt. William simply turned his attention to ravaging her neck and she had to remind herself as to what it was she wanted to say.

"William?" She said in barely a whisper. "Please let go of my hands."

The instant her words registered in his mind he let go and Esther slung her arms up around his shoulders, locking her hands behind his neck. William wrapped his arms around her in a crushing embrace, clutching the fabric of her gown with his fingers. He dragged his lips up the side of her neck and murmured gruffly next to her ear, "Did you think I was bluffing?"

His tone and the heat of his breath made her shiver and she fought to make her response coherent. "I was hoping you weren't."

William captured her lips again. He skimmed his hands down over her bottom and pressed the proof of his desire against her hip. Esther gasped and softly moaned in his mouth. She was not afraid, she knew he was as desperate as she was at this point and he would not hurt her. She trusted him.

Daringly now, Esther slipped her hands around to the base of his neck and untied the kerchief he wore, tossing it aside. She unbuttoned his collar, never letting her lips leave his and frantically tugged his shirt tails loose from the waist of his breaches. When she slid her hands up under his shirt, he sucked in his breath and she marveled over the way his feverish skin felt. Satiny skin ripped with muscle from years of soldiering and now farm work. He was smooth and lean. Her hands worked their way up his body and she felt him flinch as her fingers passed lightly over his ribs. His shoulder blades moved under her touch and to Esther he suddenly felt incredibly real.

William was a little more than shocked that Esther would make such a move. Perhaps she wasn't as shy as he originally guessed. Her touch was cool and light on his skin and William forced himself to remain in control. When Esther pulled his shirt off over his head, he watched her face intently for any sign of fear. He vowed however, that at anytime she balked, he would stop. Even if it killed him.

William unhooked the front of Esther's gown, pushing it off her shoulders and down her arms, unwrapping her like the gift that she was. He felt her lips on the sensitive skin of the bayonet scar on his neck as he plucked her cap off her head and dropped it. He tugged at the knot on the back of her head, letting her hair fall and ran his fingers through the silky locks.

Over the next few moments; moments that seemed agonizingly slow, they became a frenzied entanglement of hands and limbs and clothing, until both of them were bare. Esther's skin flushed pink as William's eyes drank her in and he pulled her back into the security of his arms. The press of her naked body against him caused an almost feral sound to resonate from his throat. And then they were kissing, kissing like two people starved of each other.

William's scent enveloped her. Earthy and male; spicy. A scent that was distinctly his. And the thought crossed Esther's mind that had she been blindfolded in a room with a hundred men, she would find William by his scent alone.

William walked backwards with her towards the bed and she giggled when he tripped over his boots, nearly toppling them both to the floor. He guided her on to the bed and then lowered himself next to her. He kissed her again and slid an arm under her neck, letting his other hand roam over her, exploring her. His fingers cruised across her shoulders, over her sinfully generous breasts. She writhed in his arms, pushing her hips against his. William knew what she wanted even before she did. He could feel it in her response, her movements, and the soft sounds she made. He gave it to her. He dipped his head low and his mouth closed over a rosy nipple as his hand began it's decent over the gentle rise of her belly.

Esther made a whimper when she felt his long fingers slide into the place where she was aching. She felt possessed by pleasure and need of him and couldn't seem to touch him enough. Her hands trembled as they roved over his body until they settled along his jaw. She could feel his mouth working on her with her fingers, moving from one nipple to the other. A strange and exciting pang shot through her, flooding her with heat all the way to her toes. Between what he was doing with his mouth and his clever fingers, Esther was quickly overwhelmed. She cupped his face in her hands and brought his mouth back to her lips.

William's mouth moved over hers urgently searching for relief. Everywhere Esther touched him left a tingling sensation embedded deep in his skin. The anticipation was killing him. Her breath quickened into short gasps as he stroked her into frenzy. He knew she was close when she pressed her hips into his hand and made an impatient sound.

William nuzzled his face next to her ear, whispering his encouragement. "Don't fight it, love….just let go."

His fingers continued moving inside her and when he pressed his thumb over her most sensitive spot, she gave in and shattered.

William was hard and hot and entirely too aroused to wait for her to recover. He moved over her smiling at the way she looked, flushed and boneless, with kiss swollen lips, sprawled naked across his bed. He couldn't think of anything lovelier than the display before him. He settled between her thighs and felt her tense for a moment. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she covered her breasts with her hands.

Bracing himself on his elbows he stroked her hair and kissed her brow. "Esther, open your eyes."

Her arms slide around him and yet she still didn't seem to hear. William cradled her head in his hands. "Esther, look at me."

She made the effort to open her eyes and stared at him as if she wasn't quite sure what to expect.

"I'm the one who's loving you. No one else. You're mine," he told her. "_Mine_."

Esther wasn't sure exactly what she saw in William's eyes at that moment. But any fear she may have had seemed to dissolve with those very words. He did love her. And even though he still had the power to destroy her and hurt her, she knew he wouldn't. She nodded and lifted her head to kiss him. All the pain and anger, the sadness and sorrow she suffered with her violation disappeared. William drew his hips back and in one smooth motion, he slid into her. She felt her body come alive again. The feel of him was like nothing she expected. There was no pain. He filled her, claiming a part of her she never knew existed. It was better than anything she ever imagined. And it was just begining.

William ground his hips into her. He watched the pleasure overcome her as he drove her to her climax over and over. Turning her body this way and that with each change of their position, he gently teased and tormented her. He moved quickly and then slowed his pace. He drove into her deeply and then withdrew to slide along the delicate folds of her flesh. He used his hands and lips to caress and kiss wherever he wanted and whispered wicked things against her skin that no self-respecting man would ever say to a lady. He provided no shelter, no retreat, as he took her again and again.

Esther cried out and moaned, arching and raking her nails down his back, becoming more exhausted with each release, yet not wanting it to end. She felt as if he had touched her so deeply that she was forever branded by him. And finally, when she felt her body begin to shatter once more, William made a guttural sound and dipped his head down, burying his face in her neck. He flexed his hips, clutching her tightly against him, spilling himself into her.

While Esther was wondering what the hell had just happened, William recovered and lay panting next to her. Once his breathing steadied, he pulled her into his arms and brought her hand up to his cheek, kissing her palm as he did so. It would have made her smile had she not felt so worn out and lethargic.

Esther let her hands glide over Williams body. She felt the ridge of a scar on his right breast. She lifted her head to look when she noticed another on the bicep of his upper arm. Soon her curious fingers found a dimpled scar above his right hip and a star-shaped scar low on his chest that was similar to one at the base of his neck. William watched her silently.

"Battle scars," he said taking a long ragged breath.

"What did this?" She asked, touching the star on his chest.

"Bayonet."

Then Esther lightly touched each scar and as he told her what caused each one. She kissed each one of them, amazed that he had lived to tell her about them.

"How did you survive?" She asked.

"I don't know, I passed out after that one," he answered as she kissed the scar on his neck again.

Esther settled against him again and said sympathetically, "I wish I could have been there for you, you know? If I had known you then…"

"No," he cut her off. "You wouldn't have wanted to know me then."

"Surely you weren't all that bad, William."

William sighed and turned on his side to face her. And Esther thought she saw a kind of deadness in his eyes, something she had never seen on his face before.

"Yes, Esther, I was. Life had a different meaning for me then. I didn't see the value in the lives of men, women or even children. I lived and fought for The Crown with the idea that Victory was the only thing that held any meaning for me. I was a miserable man and I went out of my way to make everyone else as miserable as I was. I had no real purpose other than follow orders and I see that now but I didn't then. I would have destroyed you."

She looked at him with disbelief. "I can't imagine you destroying anyone."

"Believe what you want. But don't bother me with questions you don't want the answers to."

He sounded cold and it made the hair on Esther's neck creep up.

She would never ask him about his time in the military again.


	12. Bart's Secret

Dear readers,

I apologize for the time it has taken me to get this chapter up. As most of you know I have a Bordon fic I am working along with an original fic that is winding down. And anyone who knows me, knows that I refuse to post a crappy chapter just to keep my updates going. I'd rather wait and think things through, allowing the muse to speak and tell a better story.

Anyway, I hope you all had a great holiday season and happy reading.

~J

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12.

Since the afternoon William had taken Esther to his bed, their relationship continued to flourish. Esther seeming much more at ease, although at first, Tavington was concerned that it would only make things worse. That she would either constantly seek him out for more or possibly shy away in shame. But instead, he found that she was now pacified. And that while both of them were still eager to spend time together, they also looked forward to the day when they could be married and nightfall would no longer separate them.

Tavington never thought in a million years that he would ever be the type of man to look forward to marriage. But indeed, he was. He felt fortunate enough to recognize that what he had with Esther was a once in a life time thing. He truly loved her and was proud that she would be his wife.

The idea of instant fatherhood was still a little daunting. It was ironic to Tavington how a man could face others in battle who meant to kill him without a second thought. Yet, one small child could make him doubt himself in ways he never had before. However, since he and Jason had cleared the air a bit regarding their new relationship to each other, Jason seemed more like his old self. And that gave Tavington some reassurance.

Together, Tavington and Esther discussed Jason's recent concerns. Although Esther knew that Jason loved his soon to be step-father, she was just as relieved to discover that Tavington felt the same for the boy. It seemed as though her dream of having a husband who would not only accept her as she was but also her son, were finally coming true. She also knew that once she and Jason were under his protection, Tavington would never allow anyone- including Bart and Tim- to mistreat her or Jason again.

As it turned out Esther wouldn't have to wait long for the proof.

One mid-August afternoon Esther was out weeding in her garden when she looked up to see William leading one of his massive shires, Jason perched on the horse's back. Even though Esther's heart skipped about five beats at the sight with motherly fear, it was clear that her little boy was quite proud of himself. Jason sat very straight and proper in the saddle, but the grin on his face and his twinkling brown eyes were evidence enough that he was having the time of his life.

William tethered the horse and reached up in time for Jason to slide down into his arms. Jason's feet barely touched Earth before he skipped off towards her, chattering the whole way about how Mr. Tavington promised to teach him to ride. He ran off to find his grandpa and William smiled watching Jason go. She understood early on in their relationship that horses were one thing that William had a passion for. And if he was willing to share that with Jason, she could hardly begrudge him for it.

Esther dusted the dirt off her hands as he came to her and accepted a tender kiss from him saying, "You'll be sorry when he starts asking for his own, you know?"

His eyebrows arched with his smug reply. "Sorry? Heavens no. If I have my way, he'll be breaking three-year olds before he's twelve."

"And do you always get your way Mr. Tavington?" She teased.

"Oh, most definitely," he said dipping his head for another quick peck to her lips.

At supper Jason spoke of nothing else but horses, asking his usual million questions. And as usual, Mr. Mitchel and Tavington answered them as patiently as possible.

After the table was cleared and the boys went to take care of their evening chores, Bart finally had his say. He tried to give the appearance of concern but Esther could tell he was being snide and she could also tell that William was having none of it.

"I don't know what kind of games you play Tavington but I'm certain I don't like it," Her brother said gruffly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. He looked so much like her father, Esther thought. If only Bart could behave more like him.

"Games? Whatever do you mean?" William asked genuinely confused.

"With the boy."

"You mean Jason? That is his name you know." William said tightly.

"I'm well aware of his name, sir. And I hardly think it's wise to put ideas of horse fantasies in his head."

William bristled at Bart's scornful tone. "I hardly think teaching a boy to ride and care for horses compares to putting fantasies in his head. He's a good boy, he deserves the attention, and any child should learn to ride. Aside from that, I almost feel I owe it to him for all the help he's given so freely at my place. An extra pair of willing hands has been a luxury for me. I also fail to see why it should be any of your concern."

"So you think that teaching him to ride will make you the perfect father in his eyes? It doesn't work that way, you know," Bart said.

"I don't expect to be a perfect father," William answered thoughtfully, "No, I imagine I'll probably make many mistakes through the years. What I hope for, is that all my children- present and future ones- will have all the opportunities I've had and then some. I also hope they will come to understand that although I make mistakes, everything I do will be with their best interests at heart."

"I think that's what just about any man would want for his family, Tavington," Mr. Mitchel said approvingly as he puffed on his pipe.

"And woman," Esther chimed in.

"Who asked you?," Bart sneered.

"Perhaps the same person that asked for your opinion about my fiancé's parenting skills," she shot back.

"I've never understood the animosity between the two of you," William said with a sigh of irritation as he looked at Bart. "But she won't be your concern much longer, and I'll be damned if I let you speak to her in that manner again."

"Maybe you should mind your own business."

William's eyes narrowed, and the cold hearted officer he promised Esther he'd buried threatened to show itself. "Your sister and nephew _are_ my business. Maybe _you_ should learn it's not wise to anger me."

"Or you'll what?" Brat challenged.

"Maybe you two should take this conversation outside." Mitchel suggested, not wanting his daughter to witness any more.

"Butt out!" Bart snapped.

"Pardon me?" Mitchel asked disbelievingly.

You heard me."

Rage flashed in Mitchel's eyes at Bart's blatant disrespect. "You seem to forget, son. This is my house. My land. Everything in it and on it is my business and that includes you."

With that, Bart began to rant, "Oh that's right, take their side. You always do. You always take her side and that little bastard of hers. It's always been that way. I'm the one out in the fields with you while she sits at that damned wheel of hers and spins. I'm the one who gave up everything when we left Concord so that little whore could hide what she let those Redcoats do to her in the barn that night….."

"You knew?" Esther's eyes widened as she felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"Of course I knew," Bart snarled at her. "Who wouldn't have known the way you were screaming and moaning and carrying on the way you did. I wasn't surprised at all when you couldn't get any of them to marry you. I was only surprised that Father expected us to pack up and leave for your comfort."

Esther's mind reeled. She had always known that her father told Bart about what happened to her. But there were only two people in that cabin at that moment who knew it actually took place in the barn. Her father wasn't one of them. Which meant he couldn't have told Bart about that little detail.

William was by her side in an instant. He was saying something to her about leaving with him now, about going away now, and getting married _now_. But Esther's mind hardly registered what he was saying. She was thinking about the blow her brother had just given her. What he had just admitted was that he stood witness in some sense to her violation. That even then, he was too much of a coward to rescue her. Or he hated her so much that he didn't care. What she couldn't understand was why. What had she ever done besides come into the world to make her brother so jelouse and hateful?

"Go after him, girl!" Mitchel exclaimed snapping her out of her confusion.

"What?"

"Go after your man, Esther!"

Esther then realized William was gone. In his frustration he had stormed out leaving her there stunned over her brother's revelation.

She ran after him calling to him as he was untying his horse.

"William!"

William stopped and turned with a very dark expression she had never seen before on his face. She hesitated for a moment and threw herself into his arms when she reached him. His embrace crushed her and she began to sob, heartbroken over what had just occurred.

"He knew William….he knew and he didn't try to stop them," she cried.

"I know, dearest. I am so sorry for that," she heard him say.

"Please don't leave me, William."

"I won't leave you, Esther. I will never leave you."

Inside the house Clifton Mitchel was seething and his son knew it.

He stared at his old man wide-eyed, waiting for his father's response, knowing he had just made a huge mistake by letting his mouth overrun him.

Mitchel only needed a moment to make a decision no father should ever have to make. He had to choose between his own children. He raked his gnarly fingers through his graying hair. "You're dead mother and wife are rolling in their graves. You sicken me! How could you do that to her? Your own sister!"

"Pa, I…."

"You shut your disgusting mouth!," Mitchel roared. "You pack your things and you leave here tonight. I want you out. You leave Timothy here with me so at least he has a chance to become a decent man- unlike his father."

"I will not leave him here with you!" Bart tried to argue.

"You will! You will tell him you are going back to Concord. I don't care what you tell him but you will not take him with you. You will not ruin him, Bartholomew! You will never come back, do you hear me? You are no longer welcome here. You are no longer my son! If you ever come back or if you even try to take Tim with you, so help me God, I'll send _him_ after you!"

Mitchel's shaking finger pointed towards the yard where Esther and Tavington were still standing together.

That night, at Tavington's insistence, Esther and Jason stayed with him after Esther packed a bag for a trip. The decision had been made that she and Tavington would go to Virginia where they could stop at a larger settlement and be married by a justice of the peace without banns needing to be read. Neither of them could wait any longer, for Tavington wanted Esther and Jason under his protection, and Esther simply wanted some peace.

For Jason's part, he was just excited to go on an adventure with his two favorite people and could hardly sleep that night in Tavington's loft, which he proclaimed would be his.

By morning, they were on their way to Virginia in the wagon and Bartholomew Mitchel was gone.


	13. Martin's Ferry

I'm baaaaaaaaaack! Thanks all you guys and gals for sticking with me. I know it's been awhile! I read your reviews and see you favoriting me and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. The next couple chapters are going to be mostly from Tav's POV. It's taken a lot for me to get through writing this and I have to thank Esther for helping me make it all come together.

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For Esther, and those double dog dares!

13.

_Martin's Ferry, Ohio_

Tavington and Esther Mitchel's wedding day did not go exactly as planned.

When the couple finally reached Martin's Ferry after a few days of travel, they realized that crossing the Ohio into Zanesburg, Virginia might not be such a good idea.

For one thing, the crossing of the Ohio River was always a risk-a risk that he would be willing to take if it were only his safety that was concerned. On top of that, the couple realized that Zanesburg was still a very Patriot friendly settlement. Tavington's Biritishness would stick out like a sore thumb. He could even be recognized, and even though Esther would not know why, that would definitely spell trouble for everyone involved.

No, it wouldn't do to make Esther a widow before she even had a chance to be a bride. So, Tavington made the decision to stay in Martin's Ferry and marry Esther there.

It wasn't difficult to find lodgings or even a justice of the peace willing to marry them- for a fee of course. And after checking in to a local inn, they shared a light meal in their rooms, washed, rested and went to see a man about a wedding.

Jason skip-stepped a few paces ahead of Tavington and his mother as they strolled through town to their appointment with the JP. Tavington had promised Jason earlier as they dressed themselves, that he would allow the boy pick something out at the Mercantile on the condition that he behave himself.

Tavington felt his chest rise slightly; feeling a bit chuffed as he escorted Esther down the street on his arm. She looked fresh-faced and pretty as always and in a few moments she would be his wife.

When that moment came, Tavington repeated the words he was given but he hardly took notice of anything he was actually vowing. He could have been promising her anything and wouldn't even know it until it was too late.

"I, Aloysius William Tavington, take thee Esther Lynn Mitchel….."

Esther's eyebrows rose with polite surprise. Tavington would have to explain a few things about family names later he supposed.

Tavington looked down at Jason as Esther- with shaking hands- promised to love, honor and obey him. Jason was almost peering from behind his mother's skirts and Tavington knew why. The boy was unsure about the whole thing himself. Well, it seemed they were all a bit nervous.

Tavinton winked at Jason just as the JP was pronouncing them husband and wife. Then he remembered why he was there. He loved Esther and Jason. He wanted to take care of them and for the first time in his life, someone would take care of him as well.

He couldn't resist giving his _wife _a brief kiss to seal their vows- whatever they were. And as he expected, Esther smiled shyly and blushed.

By the time they finished with the paperwork and fees, it was after noon, and the Tavington's were famished. Another meal at the tavern, and they would be ready to shop.

As the Tavington's were finishing their meal, a group of men came out of the taproom. They were not acting too loud or boisterous but one couldn't help but overhear the men talking, apparently finishing up a business deal.

He heard one man call the other Putney and when Putney answered, Esther froze.

Stiffening beside him, Esther drew Tavington's attention to her. Her face was white as a sheet and the cup and saucer she was holding rattled in her trembling hands.

Tavington's wife was petrified and it only took one look at Putney's features to guess why.

When Putney turned to answer the barmaid who had just called him "Jim," Tavington caught the full view of his face.

His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as he stared into the thirty-something face of Jason Mitchel.

Tavington glanced at Esther once more- who looked as though she were about to be ill- and then at an oblivious Jason, who was digging into a piece of blackberry pie.

There was no doubt this Jim Putney person was Jason's sire. As much as Tavington thought Jason resembled Mr. Mitchel, he realized he was wrong. The chin, the nose, and his mouth- it was all there. But it was the eyes that confirmed it. This was one of the three that had violated his Esther.

_His wife._

Tavington instantly wanted to kill him. He understood Gabriel Martin perfectly now.

But there was a difference in how Colonel Tavington handled such matters compared to Mr. Tavington.

Tavington had learned much since coming to Ohio. His time with the Mitchel's -mostly with Jason- had taught him patients. It also taught him to open himself more to new ideas and a way of life he never imagined he'd ever love or have a passion for and yet did.

But Tavington had also been a soldier longer than he had ever been a man. It was simple enough to fall into being an ordinary man. Farming was still very new to him and the satisfaction was in the learning. But sometimes as an officer he felt like he was play acting, putting on a mask. He often only felt like his true self when he was in the act of committing very dark deeds.

Tavington wanted to commit some very dark deeds at that moment. He struggled to stay seated instead of getting up and choking the life out of that son of a whore as he wished. It was hard for him not to allow the impulsive darkness to reach out from the back of his mind. He knew it would have to be kept controlled. For now.

_Later,_ Tavington thought as he snapped his gaze away before the man noticed him staring.

Until then he would show Esther no sign that he knew what troubled her. He would take her shopping as they planned. Spoil her and Jason a bit. Flirt with his adorable new wife. And think.

While Jason wandered around the Mercantile trying to decide what he wanted to look at first, Tavington spent the better part of an hour watching Esther go through the store ordering staple supplies and household goods from a list she had made on their journey.

She dickered with a lady behind the counter for the best price on everything they would need to make his house their new home. Tavington had to give her credit. For a woman, his wife would make a wonderful businessman. He understood why she was so shrewd though.

Tavington still had plenty of money left from selling his commission. Of course he had not discussed it with Esther and he had only discussed it with Mr. Mitchel enough to let the man know his daughter would be well provided for. However, Tavington also understood from his many conversations on farming with Mitchel, that there were great financial risks and that money had to be carefully spent.

He imagined that although the Mitchel's were seemingly comfortable, Esther- nor Jason for that matter- had never been able to shop for the pleasure of shopping. And in his excitement over the wedding, the trip, his new family, Tavington was in the mood to celebrate.

Not long before, he would have done so with large amounts of alcohol, a card game or two and a couple of whores. Today, he was shopping. Odd how that had changed in a matter of just a few months, but he still felt good about it.

Tavington picked up a small chip-straw hat. The kind young boys always wore this time of year with the wide brim kept flat to keep the sun out of their eyes.

He turned to Jason, who was busy picking through a bin of clay marbles.

"Do you know what you need?"

"A good lickin?" Jason replied, teasing impishly with his snaggled smile.

"No, a new hat." Tavington answered with a smirk. He jammed the hat on Jason's head.

Jason grinned playing along with the game now. He looked at the shop-keep and said, "Well, I reckon I'll take this one."

The shop-keep smiled. He knew this was going to be a profitable day with this Englishman and his family and added the hat to their bill.

"Well," Esther announced as she approached the boys, "I'm all finished. Are we ready to leave?"

"Not quite. Jason is still has a few things to decide on," Tavington told her as he tucked her arm into his.

"I do?" The boy said, surprised.

"You do. If you recall your birthday is in a few weeks. I think eight is the perfect age for a boy to receive his first hunting rifle."

Esther and Jason both exclaimed in unison, "A hunting rifle!"

"Yes," Tavington said. "And a powder horn and a pellet pouch and maybe…if we're very fortunate, we might even find someone with some puppies for sale. We could use a good dog at home."

Esther voiced her opinion. "_William, _it's too much. And a puppy would cost a fortune out here."

And then Jason voiced his. "Oh please, oh please, oh please, Ma!"

"Yes, Ma, the boy said please," Tavington said mildly, his lips curving.

"Well, I'm not sure I like the idea of this new democracy. It seems as if I'm always likely to be outvoted," Esther resigned with a sigh.

When something else grabbed Jason's attention, the boy scampered off, leaving Esther and Tavington alone.

She looked strained.

"Is everything all right, darling?"

"Yes…I'm fine…just a little tired from the trip I guess."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, really, I'm fine," she insisted with a weak smile.

She was lying.

Tavington turned to the shop-keep and allowed him to show Tavington a selection of rifles that would be suitable for a young boy. Tavington recognized the name of one of the gun smith's and chose it above the others.

The shop- keep nodded his approval and spoke with a thick Ulster accent, "Verra good, sir. This ere' be a grand huntin' weapon fer yer son."

Esther squeezed Tavington's arm while the shop-keep had his back turned.

"William, I don't mean to sound ungracious," she said keeping her voice low.

"I hear a 'however' coming on."

"Well…..it's just that….with our room and the license and everything are you sure we can afford this?"

Tavington lead her over to a quiet corner where they would not be overheard.

"Darling," he began. "I told you I sold my commission, yes?" When she nodded he continued, "A commission for a lieutenant colonel goes for several thousand pounds."

Her eyes widened at this.

"After I was injured I lived off half pay until I sold my commission," he said with a careless shrug. "And even after buying the wagon and team and coming here I still have quite a large chunk of it left to invest or spend as I see fit. And did I not say just a few hours ago that all my worldly goods I thee endow? "

"Yes," she answered but she still sounded very uncertain. "I understand now, William, but with farming you never know what will happen. If crops fail or livestock dies…it could be…..catastrophic." Then she added in a deadly serious tone, "We could lose _everything_."

"Esther, we could sit on that land and do absolutely nothing with it for the next few years and we will still be quite comfortable. I assure you, I understand your concerns, dearest, but you have nothing to fear. And even if we do lose everything, we'll still have each other."

"I'm sorry I doubted you," she said regretfully. Her face flushed and her eyes glittered as if she were about to cry. Tavington considered the pressure she must be experiencing. He knew she wanted to unburden herself from what was really bothering her but did not understand why she didn't. Did she still think he would reject her? Didn't she know he would protect her?

Tavington took her hand and kissed it. "Don't apologize. Go spend some money."

"Oh, I don't think I need anything."

He led her over to a little table that displayed sweet smelling things that women always seemed to be mad about. "It's not about what you _need_, darling, it's about what you _want_."

Esther said nothing but picked up a bar of soap and sniffed it.

"The more you argue, the more I'll buy," he said in a teasing tone as he set three bars of very expensive floral scented soap on the counter- for her.

"_William…_" she scolded, putting the soap back.

"_Esther_," he retorted and set the bars back on the counter along with two more bars and a bottle of rose water.

"_Aloysius_…" she countered, her brows knitting together in a frown.

Tavington slowly shook his finger, "Tisk, tisk, darling, never use that name with me. Just for that….." He picked up a bottle of lavender oil and added it to the pile.

And that was the end of their first argument as a married couple.

* * *

A/N...Just for the record, a little Ohio history here... Zanesburg, Virginia is now what we call Wheeling, West Virginia after the American Civil War when part of Virginia broke away and became West Virginia. Martin's Ferry (Martins Ferry now) is directly across the river from Wheeling and is listed as the oldest settlement in Ohio. Ebenezer Zane split Zanesville into two lots and Wheeling was established in 1795.


	14. The Colonel

Okay this little tidbit should have gone with chapter 13 but it would have been huge so I cut it down. Enjoy the twofer!

* * *

14.

Tavington did in fact manage to procure a puppy for Jason. After asking the shop-keep if he knew of anyone with puppies, he bought the speckled, runty- looking, little spaniel-terrier mutt from the town blacksmith.

As a deliriously happy Jason held the squirming creature in his arms, Tavington paid the man what turned out to be a reasonable sum and prayed the little flea-bag wasn't gun shy.

The blacksmith could have easily demanded a much higher price and Tavington would have paid it. It made Jason happy, which made Esther happy, which in turn, made Tavington very happy.

He never counted on how _un_happy the inn keeper would be with Jason's insistence that the pup sleep in his room instead of the stables with Sue and Sam.

Jason pleaded his case, "Someone will steal him."

"No one will steal him Jason, he'll be with Sue and Sam," Esther soothed.

"But Ma, he'll miss me."

Esther glared at Tavington. Tavington glared at the inn keeper.

In the end, the pup slept in Jason's room. But only on the condition it stayed in the wood box and Jason had to promise not to let the puppy make a mess on the floor.

Tavington and Esther battled with him the rest of the evening over the puppy. The boy was too excited to eat a late supper and picked over his food. Jason tried out different names for the dog. Tavington suggested Satan which earned him a swift kick from Esther under the table.

Finally, after officially naming the dog 'Speck', Jason was content to wash up and turn in for the night. Speck's box stayed right next to Jason's bed of course but at least boy and beast were settled.

Tavington was turning to go when a question from Jason stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Hey, wait, I need to ask you something. What do I call you now?"

Taavington didn't know how to answer and had to stop to consider it. He sat back down on the edge of Jason's bed. Jason was watching him with very solemn brown eyes and he made his decision. Or rather, he let Jason make the decision.

"Well, let's see, you could continue to call me Mr. Tavington, I suppose- some step-sons do that. Or you might prefer Tavington or even Tav as some of my friends call me…..my mother and father called me Will, and I loath Willy or Al….But I do not mind if you would like to call me Father."

Jason smiled and Tavington knew then where this was coming from. Jason wanted Tavington to be his father and to acknowledge him as such. He only hoped that he could live up to Jason's expectations. He hit the proverbial ball back into Jason's court.

"The point is Jason, you may call me whatever it is that you think I am to you. Regardless, I'll know what comes from your heart. Do you understand?"

Jason nodded and yawned.

"Good," Tavington said, smoothing his hair because Jason hated it ruffled. "Now go to sleep."

Jason rolled to his side and shut his eyes. "Goodnight, Dad."

Tavington like the way that sounded. Fatherly, but different than 'Papa'.

"Goodnight, Son," he answered. He liked the way that sounded too.

Tavington quietly shut the door that separated their two rooms and found Esther-fresh from her bath- waiting in bed. He shucked his clothes quickly, silently watching her silently watch him with a sleepy smile on her face.

Esther made a quiet squeak as the force of his weight on the bed ropes caused her to roll towards him with the sheets she seemed to be hiding under. Tavington caught her in his arms and drew her even closer.

"I think the bed ropes might need tightened," Esther said evenly with a note of amusement in her voice.

"I think the bed ropes are perfect the way they are," he answered lightly and squeezed her when he noticed she too was naked. "You little minx."

Tavington let a hand skim down to her knee, and then pulled her leg over his so he could stroke the length of it from thigh to toes.

"I reckoned it would save us a few minutes," she said giggling from his feathery touch.

Tavington smiled, appreciating the thought, especially now after the day they had. This is why he loved her. Because she could be cheerful and lovely even as she walked through Hell. He whispered his words against the milky sweet skin of her neck, breathing in the light lavender scent of her hair. "You reckoned well, darling, but why the rush? We have all night."

She was stroking his neck and shoulders now in the way that always drove him insane. When she didn't answer he drew back to look at her and her face took a more serious expression. At first, Tavington thought she might tell him about seeing Putney but she startled him by declaring instead, "William, I want a little girl."

"A little girl? As in a daughter?"

"Is that alright?" she asked. "If I gave you a daughter? Our daughter? Oh, William, I want a little girl so badly. _Our_ little girl."

Tavington was silent for a moment and maybe just a little overwhelmed. Not in a bad way, but it was the last thing he expected her to say.

"Of course. We can fill the house with children. Sons and daughters….as long as they all favor you," he said wryly.

"Oh no, some of them have to look like you too, but those children will have my temper, she teased.

Tavington rolled his eyes and muttered sarcastically, "God help us all. They'll be cracking the knuckles and splitting the shins of every man in the Ohio Country. They will create a wood spoon shortage."

Esther narrowed her eyes and attempted to hide the smile creeping up her lips. The she did the one thing Tavington had been patiently waiting for al day; she kissed him.

Their consummation was slow and unhurried. Tavington took his time with her, coaxing each response from her, trying to savor every inch of her luscious curves, knowing other things might be distracting her and trying to steer her attentions towards him only.

It was good. She felt so good. But it was also different. Strange and surreal. Not at all like the afternoon in his cabin. Aside from her inexperience, she was holding back and although it thoroughly pissed him off, Tavington knew she couldn't be faulted. He tried to be tender with her and gratefully took from her everything she willingly offered.

Later, as his new wife dozed off to sleep in his arms, Tavington held her close. She was everything to him now, body, mind and soul. He let his head rest against the pillows while he thought about a few things.

In the candle light Esther looked exhausted and Tavington didn't doubt she was. But there was something else in her expression. Worry? Fear? Something he couldn't name because she wouldn't tell him. Was she thinking of this Putney fellow? Tavington certainly understood why. It would have been no different for him if Benjamin Martin himself had walked out of that very taproom.

He wanted to do something about it and considered his options.

Slowly Tavington felt something dark move in the back of his mind, a shadow, with just a hint of a voice. His voice.

_Kill him. _

That was something Tavington hadn't thought of for a very long time, killing.

As a soldier it was something one became used to. It was expected. You either killed or you were killed during battles or a raid.

But the hunting of the enemy, well now, that was a different story. The hunt was what fueled the bloodlust inside him. He felt that bloodlust rise again with the anticipation of what he knew he was about to do.

The anticipation was another exhilarating part of the hunt. Knowing you were going to find your enemy and more than likely kill them was a rush in itself. It had always made Tavington wonder if he were born to kill and at one time, he even craved it.

Of all the things Tavington fed on in life; the alcohol, women, gambling and so on, the power one felt from ending the life of another was a high like no other.

_James Putney hurt his woman. James Putney needs killing. He should be cut like a blight from the Earth, erased and disposed of like garbage. _

Tavington could easily turn him into a missing person that no one would really ever miss. It would be so simple. He already had a plan in his mind of how he could accomplish the task.

_Do it. _

What if he had recognized Esther or Jason? Would Putney remember her? He hadn't seemed to notice any of them in the tavern. But if Putney had seen Jason, he would certainly know he had fathered the boy. There was no doubt about that.

_He could take the boy. No judge or magistrate in the country would deny him. _

And there it was, laid bare before him.

Tavington felt an anxious tightening in his chest and in his mind the darkness overcame him. Like a force trying to get past him, pushing him aside as if they both fought for the same space.

Colonel Tavington sighed heavily, sat up in bed and looked down at Mrs. Tavington. He watched her sleep like a sentry, guarding her but careful not to touch her. When he was certain she wouldn't wake, he slipped out of bed and dressed as quickly and as quietly as he could.

He knew what he must do now.

Stepping out into the darkness, he disappeared into the night.


	15. Murder In Small Town X

15.

The colonel headed out in the direction of the tavern where he was certain he would find Putney. It wouldn't matter now if anyone noticed him. If anyone happened to see him, they would simply think he was heading out for a pint just like anyone else.

They would never know what he was thinking- what he was planning.

In the tavern he found Putney in the taproom just as he expected. A few other men were crowded around other tables, but Putney was drinking alone now.

_All the better._

The colonel would have preferred him sober, but the fact was, with his height and build Putney seemed to be an even match for the colonel. His drunkenness would make him easier to take down. He would be clumsy and slower.

_Yes, Putney, drink up lad._

He ordered up a pint for himself and paid for it, tipping the bar maid generously. This would buy her silence if nothing else. If Putney ended up being missed the bar maid would never mention a customer that had tipped well. She would have no reason to.

While Putney continued to pound down the alcohol, the colonel nursed his ale until the sweetness of the barely and the flavor of the hops began to taste bitter on his tongue.

Then, he slipped outside and waited.

When the tavern closed for the night, Putney eventually made his way outside.

Staggering down the walk, Putney never noticed the dark-haired stranger trailing him until the colonel caught up to him while he took a piss in an alley.

_Stupid man._

Colonel Tavington snuck up behind him and took him down with a choke hold, tightening his forearm against Putney's neck. Putney struggled but he could not get out of the hold. As the need for air grew stronger, Putney's face became redder and he grew weaker.

Putney lost consciousness. The colonel picked him up by the collar and dragged him down the alley into the back lane, which lead to the riverfront.

The colonel had nothing to secure his victim and he cursed himself for not thinking to find some rope or twine. So he used Putney's own shirt, tearing it into strips and binding Putney's hands and feet with it.

_No matter, Putney will not escape._

It was rather irritating however that Putney was still unconscious. He wanted him awake, damn it! He didn't have all night. If worse came to worse, he would simply cut his throat and throw him in. But that wouldn't be very much fun. The colonel wanted Putney to know why he was about to die.

With Putney lying like a sack of potatoes on the river bank, the colonel made a little use of his time. He listened to the crickets. He watched the blinking fireflies that had always amazed and fascinated him. There were no fireflies in England. He picked up a handful of pebbles and poured them from one hand into the other, tossing them one at a time into the water.

He was bored now and wanted to get his party started. He stood over Putney and dropped a pebble on his face, aiming for his slack-jawed mouth.

_Missed. _

The crickets chirrped their summer song but the colonel no longer noticed. There was a different kind of buzzing in his ears, one he hadn't heard in a very long time. He knew what it meant and his lips curved into a nefarious smile.

He dropped another and Putney stirred when it hit his eyelid.

One more and Putney sat up, gagging and spitting the pebble into his lap.

"What the…." A shocked Putney said as he looked up at the colonel, straining to see his assailant in the darkness. "Who are you?"

"You're worst nightmare," the colonel replied in a deadly tone.

"Why have you bound me? If you were going to rob me, I would have given you the money. Let me go now!"

The colonel chuckled, his eyebrows raising in delight. "Oh, I'm not going to rob you, I'm going to _kill_ you."

This was murder and the colonel didn't care. He would do whatever he needed at whatever cost to protect what was his.

"I have friends in this town that will see you hang for this," Putney threatened indignantly.

_The little piss-ant clearly has no idea who he is trifling with._

"Only if I'm caught," the colonel replied turning to face his prey with a grin that would frighten the devil himself. "And I have no intention of getting caught."

"I've got no quarrel with you."

"You _ruined_ my wedding day," the colonel replied irritably.

"I've never seen you before in my life."

"No, but you know my wife and she certainly has a quarrel with you."

Colonel Tavington looked on as Putney struggled to understand what he was saying before clueing him in.

"A little over eight years ago you were billeted with a family in Concord, yes?" The colonel clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head slightly as if waiting for the answer but when Putney stared up at him blankly he sighed and continued. "A family by the name of Mitchel?"

Putney paled and then tried to suddenly reason.

"That wasn't my fault. The old man asked us not to drink in the house so we went out to the barn that night. Applegate and Swain didn't mean any harm. They only wanted to have a little fun…"

The colonel was having none of it. He felt his anger twist into a murderous rage and he roared at Putney, "She was barely eighteen! She was _INNOCENT! _You were the blackguard that got her with child! It is most certainly _YOUR FAULT!"_

Putney cringed away from the mad man that was screaming in his face. When it actually dawned on him what the colonel had just said, his dark eyes flashed surprise and then confusion.

"A child?"

"A son," The colonel confirmed flatly. "But you will never know him and he will never know you."

"I had no idea…"

"Neither did we. That is until she spotted you in the tavern today. It was obvious by her reaction who you were and what you had done. One good look at you was all I needed to know who fathered the boy."

The colonel could only imagine what was going on in Putney's mind hearing for the first time that he had a child; a son. It wouldnt matter anyway. He felt no compassion, no sympathy for this man. All he knew at that point was that Putney was a threat and the colonel was going to make him go away.

"But you see, if you knew him, you would want to take him. He's _my_ boy now. I cannot allow that. Not to mention the fact that my wife deserves some justice as well. It's been very difficult for me helping her come to terms with what you three vile pigs did to her. Because she suffers, I suffer and because I suffer, you must suffer."

The colonel stood behind Putney while the man struggled to turn and face him.

"You don't have to kill me," Putney suggested in a pleading tone that never failed at annoying the colonel. He rolled his eyes as Putney rambled on. "I promise I'll leave as soon as you let me go. Know one will have to know about this…little misunderstanding."

"There is no misunderstanding, Mr. Putney," The colonel replied matter-of-factly. "You sir, are a deviant of the worst kind. You are perverse and sick and you disgust me. You are the diseased dog and I am the master who is here to put you down. The only question is…how shall I accomplish the task?"

Putney fought once more against his restraints but the scraps of his shirt held tight. Then he became angry, which the colonel expected of course. That was always the way of it.

_First they plead, then they get angry and when they realize they are actually going to die, they cry. _

The colonel wondered if Putney would cry. With the night soon closing into dawn, he wouldn't have to wait long to find out.

"Normally I would have put a lead ball in your head, but that would be too noisy this time of night….and a short drop and a dance at the end of the hangman's noose is too good for the likes of you."

This didn't seem to phase Putney and as the colonel continued, Putney indeed became angry and flew off into a tangent off his own.

"You piss pot farmers are all alike," he spat venomously. "You leave your women alone and then you cry foul when someone else moves in on your territory….You know that thing she does that you like?...I taught her that."

Putney was grasping; trying to blame the Mitchel's for his own misdeeds. The colonel was having none of it. He knew Mrs. Tavington well enough to know she would never lie to him as this man was now doing and the details Putney was giving were really beginning to piss the colonel off.

The colonel circled his victim at the same time knowing that soon he would be running on pure adrenaline. For now, he would have to settle for enjoying the torment of this man. If only Bordon were there to enjoy it with him. The thought made him feel almost nostalgic, then he snapped,remembering what Bordon said and soon darker ideas came to mind.

"I could always disembowel you and tie you to a tree by your entrails in the ways of the Shawnee," he said speaking slightly over Putney.

Putney stopped, his face was now ash white.

"Or…..I could do as the Cherokee and skin you alive," The colonel brought his face closer to Putney from behind startling him when he spoke close to his ear. "Then I'll dance around in your skin while you watch with lidless eyes as your life slowly and agonizingly slips away."

That was when Putney made the mistake of screaming for help.

The colonel had to think quickly to shut him up. Instead of putting his hand over Putney's mouth and risk being bitten, he stepped back and kicked him in the face. The cracking sound his jaw made indicated a fracture. Putney's pained moans confirmed it.

While Putney rolled on the ground in excruciating pain, the colonel cut the ties at his ankles and forced him to stand with the intention of slitting his throat. He never considered that Putney might have an adrenaline burst of his own and was surprised when the idiot took off in a dead run with his hands still bound.

It didn't take long for the colonel to catch up to him and when he did, he took him in a head lock while he brought his knife around. His heart pounded and the colonel smiled, knowing that soon the rush he had been anticipating all night about to come on strong.

The colonel had two choices; slit Putney's throat or snap his neck.

With his knife at Putney's throat, the colonel wanted him to hear one last thing.

"Before you go, just one more thing, during my short tenure as The Butcher of the Carolina's, I learned never to underestimate the piss pot farmers while you're out to destroy their families."

Clenching his jaw tightly, the colonel pushed the tip of the knife through Putney's neck, listening to the crunch as the blade tore through cartilage until he felt it hit bone. Putney tried to scream but couldn't. The colonel twisted the handle and heard the gurgling sounds Putney made as he left the world adding to his previous thought, "They _always_ come back to stab you in the neck."

Colonel William Tavington made it _right _just as Bordon wished. No one would take Jason, no one would hurt Mrs. Tavington-ever.

_Mission complete._

Colonel Tavington tossed Putney's corpse into the river like the trash that he was, chucked the deadman's hat in after him, wiped his blade on the grass and walked away to a cricket serenade.

* * *

A/n I wanted this to come across as the old Tav. The Colonel, the soldier, the commander, cold, selfish, calculating. He knows better than to be so impulsive now. I think this is probably one of the darkest things I've ever written. Let me know what you think!


	16. No Rest For The Wicked

_"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned." ~William Coongreve, English Poet & Playwright_

16.

Tavington slipped into the quiet darkness of his room at the inn. He shut the door without a sound and turned to find Esther standing by the window.

_Damn! Damn! Damn!_

Her arms were crossed and her toe was tapping the hardwood floor.

"Where the _hell_ have you been," she hissed, her head bobbing from side to side like a metronome, punctuating her words.

Tavington was once again faced with a decision. He could demand his privacy and let her jump to her own conclusions. He could make up a lie by claiming he had joined a card game, forgetting the time. Or he could tell her the truth and let the chips fall where they may.

An omission, a lie or the truth.

Tavington was still coming down off his rush. He was tired. He didn't want to argue and would probably lose his temper if he did.

He opted for the truth and hoped the gamble paid off.

Tavington took a step forward and Esther stood firm. She didn't move away, nor did she make a move towards him. He took this as a sign that she was at least willing to listen to an explanation. Whether she accepted what he told her or not- that he was a cold blooded killer- was another story. He laid it before her very bluntly- without even raising his voice, but very sincerely and almost apologetically.

"I went out after you fell asleep. I tracked down James Putney and I killed him. He will not hurt anymore women… or you, Esther. I know he will always haunt you and I pray, darling, that this does not add to your strife, but I was not about to let that _man_ live knowing what he did to you. I couldn't take the chance that he would see Jason and try and take him, continuing to terrorize you further. And that, my dearest, is that."

Esther's reaction surprised him although he wasn't quite sure why. He realized then that while the killer inside him did not feel one single shred of remorse for his victim, he felt horrible over the possibility of upsetting his wife.

She stood silently for a moment her eyes locked on his. With her back to the window in her wrapper, the moonlight cast a glow that made her hair appear silver. She looked like an angel. Tavington did not think he deserved an angel.

After what seemed like an eternity Esther straightened, blinked a few times and cleared her throat with a short humming sound. She was still trying to process the information and Tavington felt guilty for burdening her with it.

It had to be said and simply put, he knew that there would always be a part of him; a dark part of him that would never change. Should he promise never to do such a thing again? The answer was no, and he would not delude himself or her by doing so.

"I had to set things right, darling." It was his only excuse.

At that, her eyes welled up and Tavington braced himself for angry histrionics.

Esther flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She hid her face against his chest and said something he never expected.

"Thank you…thank you. Oh God, thank you, William, for protecting Jason. It's been weighing on me since I saw Captain Putney in the tavern today. I wanted to tell you but I was so afraid…"

She cried her tears of relief while Tavington grappled for a handle on his emotions. He had promised her that he would protect Jason only a few months ago. He had nearly forgotten that promise until now. And yet that had been the one thing on his mind; the driving force behind his need to hunt Putney down and kill him like a dog. Protecting Jason. Protecting him for selfish reasons but protecting him none the less.

Now, here was this woman-his wife, who accepted him unconditionally, sobbing and telling him how much she loved him- a murderer. Perhaps she didn't know she should be afraid of him as well, or maybe she just saw him as some kind of distorted hero. But either way, it was a strange feeling to know that someone actually loved him enough to overlook something so monstrous about himself.

Tavington was also quite worked up physically at that moment. He knew he wasn't the only man to feel that way after what he had just done. In his experience most soldiers were always full of sap after a good fight.

The problem was that he normally would have gone to see a whore, if only to work out his sexual frustration. That's not to say he was particularly brutal to the women he bedded- whore or not. But he knew he could be very demanding and sometimes a little rough.

What it came down to was that Esther was still very innocent and although she tried whole-heartedly with success to please, Esther was _not_ a whore.

When he told her once before that he had never confessed to loving anyone in his life but her, he had spoken the truth. But what he wanted from her now wasn't something she was accustomed to giving. He didn't want to hurt her, yet he was afraid he might. Then after he would have to face her and he wasn't sure he would be able to do that.

Tavington took her by the shoulders and held her away. Looking down at her tearful face he resisted the urge to ravage her mouth.

"Esther, I think it would be best if you bunk with Jason for the rest of the night."

"Is something else wrong, William? Were you seen?" She asked nervously, glancing at the door as if expecting the magistrate and a posse to come bursting through at any time.

"No, darling, everything is fine…..but…"

Esther pushed herself back into his arms, pressing against him. The feel of her nearly snapped whatever control he had left.

Tavington desperately tried to push her away once more but she clung to him and began kissing his cheeks and jaw. "Esther, we cannot do this….right now."

Hi voice felt tight and sounded strange to his own ears.

She stopped and drew back to look at his face. "What is it? Don't you want me, William?"

"I want you too much right now."

She stared at him, confused. Maybe he should frighten her a little, he thought. At least then she might learn not to question him when he was in such a temper.

He narrowed his eyes, tightened his jaw and while looking her straight in the eyes, he said, sounding as threatening as possible, "I want you so much I could _fuck_ the daylights out of you until you beg me to stop."

"I don't like that _word_, William," she said in a stern tone he had often heard her use with Jason.

He blinked.

Being nasty to Esther hadn't accomplished a thing with her before. If anything it seemed to arouse her more. Tavington had no idea what made him think he could scare her now. Apparently his little wife was the _one_ fly attracted to vinegar.

She stepped back and without hesitation, dropped her wrapper.

When he didn't move, she took the initiative and began removing his clothes. Slowly at first, constantly watching his face like a mouse toying with a cat that was already about to pounce. Once she was certain he would not react badly, his clothes started flying. When she finally had him naked and took him in hand, the rest of his will just crumbled to dust. He pulled at her, crushing her curvaceous body against his and kissed her hard. Forcing her lips apart with his thumb, he thrust his tongue inside to dance with hers.

He could tear her apart right now if he wanted, but that was not _really _what he wanted. He loved her too much. He couldn't hurt her and he never wanted to lose her. Just the thought of it brought on a new kind of anxiety and panic he had never experienced before. It terrified him.

Tavington's chest tightened and suddenly it became very difficult for him to breathe. He ended the kiss just as he felt a wave of heat pass over him. His vision tunneled slightly as he broke into a cold sweat and he wondered if he might pass out. When he stumbled a little Esther held on to him and helped him to the bed.

He sat down on the edge, bracing his hands on his knees and heard her ask in what sounded like a very far off voice if he was alright. He shook his head to clear it but it was too late. He felt the hot tears spill from his eyes and land with a splat on the floor. He tried to dash them away with an angry swipe of his fist but they kept coming. Tavington couldn't remember the last time he had ever broken down and wept. He felt like such an imbecile, jagging on like such a baby and he had no idea why.

Esther quickly scooped her wrapper from the floor and slid her arms into the sleeves. She went to the washstand, poured some water into a cup and handed it to him as she patted his face with a damp cloth.

Tavington drained the cup and let Esther fuss over him a minute more before stretching out on the mattress.

"I'm sorry, William," he heard her say. "I won't bother you now. I'll go sleep in Jason's room like you asked."

There was no way in hell he would let her leave him now.

"No," his voice cracked. "Just….lay with me."

Esther slipped into bed next to him and held him close.

* * *

"Dad?" A small voice whispered to him.

Tavington cracked his eyes open to find Jason standing fully dressed, puppy in arms, peering into his face.

"The puppy needs to go outside. Can I take him down?"

Tavington sat up, rubbing his face and looked at the window while considering what was being asked and how best to answer. It was past dawn; at that time of the morning when the sun just started to burn off the dew.

Jason waited patiently for him to give permission. It was the puppy's whine that snapped him back to the question.

"Yes," he said, croaking his first sentence of the day. "You may take the dog out."

Jason just stood there for a moment and then asked, "Why are you naked?"

Tavington had to think fast. "I uh….was a little….warm." _Yes, that was it._ "...and I took my shirt off, I suppose."

This excuse seemed to satisfy the boy and Tavington glanced down at a sleeping Esther, making sure she was covered and hoping she wouldn't wake until Jason as out the door. He was relieved to find her still looking peaceful, wearing her wrapper. Then he had an idea. A naughty idea.

He had to get rid of the boy for an hour or so.

"Jason, make sure you give young Speck there plenty of time. And stay in the stable yard. Perhaps you could check on Sam and Sue for me? Maybe take them out and walk them a bit and give them a good brushing?"

"Yes, sir," Jason answered happily as he closed the door on his way out.

Tavington turned to Esther lying on her back. Knowing her to be a light sleeper, he was surprised Jason hadn't woke her when he came in. Tavington smiled to himself, wondering just how much he could get away with.

One of Esther's hands rested on her belly while the other was resting palm up on her pillow by her face. Her hair was flung about in tawny swirls across her eyes and pillow. He lifted the sheets to peek underneath. Esther's wrapper was open, exposing her breasts. It twisted around her hips and thighs which lay akimbo on the mattress.

She was out cold, absolutely gorgeous and all his.

Tavington smoothed the hair back from her face and softly pecked her lips.

Nothing.

He skimmed his fingertips down her chest, between her breasts and over the rise of her belly. Goose-pimples appeared and her nipples puckered but still no response from Esther.

He lowered his head and tugged one of the tips into his mouth. The instant he suckled, he felt her body stiffen. Tavington smiled.

Esther writhed, stretching. She brought her hands up to stroke his hair and lifted her head to see him nuzzle in between her breast.

"You'll smother yourself doing that," he heard her say with a sleepy voice.

"But what a way to die," he answered, nuzzling deeper. She giggled.

Tavington continued his ministrations while his wife lay passively.

"William?"

"Hmmm?"

"I'm sorry about last night?" Esther said regretfully.

This time his head popped up and with a perplexed expression he asked, "Whatever for?"

"It wasn't my intention to push you like that."

He understood immediately what she was referring to and yet he had to know something.

He chuckled, "Are you _ever_ frightened of me?"

Esther hesitated for a second before answering.

"No," She said shaking her head thoughtfully. "Well… maybe a little afraid that you'll leave me or that I can't be what you need. But your anger is never directed at me. Perhaps if I thought it was, my opinion might be a little different-"

"Esther, stop. You are _exactly _what I need. I've said it before and I'll say it as many times as required until you believe me….I'm not going anywhere."

Then he paused for a bit, lightly stroking her belly and thighs with a feathery touch. "I think back sometimes and I'm glad I met Jason first….otherwise I wouldn't have been ready to meet you. I would _not _have been prepared to love you and I've loved you almost since the moment I met you. Last night I think it overwhelmed me a bit."

Tavington was speaking from the heart but he was also lazily unwrapping the twist of cotton from Esther thighs.

"Even though I hit you with my spoon?"

He kissed her deeply, tasting the desire in her mouth.

"Especially after you hit me with your spoon."

He touched her and found her ready and willingly open for him.

"Now, William….please…" she plead desperately now that her worry was forgotten.

Tavington looked down at Esther's pretty face as it flushed with arousal. She was so loving…and sweet. Beautiful, infuriating, stubborn….delightful.

He drew her beneath him and obliged.


	17. The Greatest Lesson Of All

_"Reputation is what men and women think of us; character is what God and angels know of us"~ Thomas Paine_

17.

_13 years later..._

Jason watched his mother's ginger tom-cat strut past the chicken coop on a crisp October afternoon. A big rooster started after the cat, threatening and warning him away from the coop. But the Tom knew who ruled the barnyard and it wasn't the old rooster.

Jason was tired from his long journey east and ready for a bath and some of his mother's cooking. But first, he waited for the "inspection."

He glanced at his younger brother, Isaac and smiled. At thirteen his mother had been leery about allowing the younger boy to ride with Jason and Tim for his first buying trip into Wheeling and now, he waited anxiously with Jason and Tim for the verdict on their purchases.

At twenty-one, Jason had recently started his own business of sorts with his dad and older cousin. That morning they returned home with a fine Arabian mare that Tavington himself had specifically requested. But that horse wasn't the one that had the boys on pins and needles. It was the matched pair of a new breed of horse named for their first sire of their kind; the Justin Morgan horse.

It wasn't that these two beautiful creatures had been impulse buys. Oh no, Jason had done his research. He also lurked around the auction yards for days searching for a breedable pair he could say were better than the matching bay stallion and mare.

When he showed them to Tim, they pooled their money together and outbid everyone else that was interested.

Jason listed all their attributes to his dad, selling him the idea of these horses.

"Aren't those the prettiest pair of legs you've ever seen, Dad?"

"Yes, they are," Tavington answered. Then with a backwards glance to the house, he added. "Just don't tell your mother I said that."

The boys chuckled.

"They're known for stamina and speed, Uncle Will," Tim added.

"They are wicked fast, Dad. Why I bet that little Morgan mare would just about outrun the Arabian," Isaac chimed in.

Tavington's flicked his eyes at Isaac; a warning signal for the boy to stop speaking ill of his beloved Arabians.

Tavington ran his weathered hands over the stallion's strong, well muscled withers, skimming down the horse's back to his rump.

He didn't smile but Jason could recognize the delight he saw in Tavington's eyes. When he finally spoke Jason knew his father-his mentor, his hero-approved.

"Soft mouth, solid,compact…..beautiful animals," Tavington remarked to no one in particular. "A bit smaller than most….only, what...fifteen hands? But I dare say they might make a wonderful cavalry horse."

They had him alright. As soon as he said "cavalry horse," Jason knew it was in the bag. Tim even gave him a nod that said he was of the same thought.

It was an odd sort of thing, he and Tim. When Jason thought back on how his older cousin bullied and picked on him as a child it was hard to believe Tim was the same person.

Over the years after his Uncle Bart disappeared, Jason and Tim became good friends. Jason was never sure if that was because Tim outgrew his meanness or if it was because he was no longer under his father's influence.

Regardless, Tim, who had once been such a mean boy, had grown into a good man.

Without Bart around, Tim also eventually came to trust Tavington and like Jason, listened and learned as much as he possibly could about the equine world from his uncle. He was big and burly now like Uncle Bart and still enjoyed tucking under at his Aunt Ether's table.

Tim never had the eye for selection that came naturally to Jason, but he was the brains of the operation and was very good with numbers and money. He was also very knowledgeable in animal husbandry and healing and became somewhat known around the area for his veterinary skills.

When he turned twenty-one, Tim was given the Mitchel's property in Concord.

It was to be a gift from Mr. Mitchel for Tim to do with as he wished and also what would be his inheritance.

By that age Tim had pretty much realized that his father was never coming back. He never asked why, he didn't have a need to know about his father like Jason eventually did. By the time Jason was eighteen a family meeting was held and then, both of the boys knew why.

So,needless to say, none of the family was surprised when Tim announced he wanted to make the trip back home to Massachusetts. If anything, it would confirm whether or not Bart had taken over the property when he disappeared. When Tim asked Jason to make the journey with him, they both realized that this was a chance to get square with each of their pasts.

They visited the family cemetery nearby where Tim's mother, Johanna had been buried next to Grandma Mitchel. The graves were nearly covered by weeds and wild roses and the boys spent the better part of an hour clearing them the best they could.

The house as Tim remembered it was gone. It had been torn down or possibly burnt down years ago. Nothing remained other than the gray stone foundation and fireplace ruins. The springhouse was gone.

Tim told a story of how once their mothers were home alone before Johanna Mitchel died when a black bear broke into the springhouse. The beast was devouring whatever he could get his paws on and the women shot his head clean off. Bart and Mr. Mitchel had come home to find enough bear meat to last the winter, a busted up spinghouse and a very chuffed wife and daughter.

The old stone wall that ran along the apple tree-lined drive was still there, although toppled in some places. The craggy-looking apple trees only bearing hard, sour little fruits. The barn however, remained perfectly intact.

The boys burned it to the ground that very day. Each had their own reasons for wanting it gone.

Tim then spent a few days in Concord instructing a solicitor to sell his property.

The Mitchel's left New England and never looked back.

With that, the two oldest Mitchel grandsons were bonded like brothers, just as their grandfather had wished them to be. When old man Mitchel passed one winter day, the entire family took it hard, but found solace for their grief in each other and the bonds they shared. Jason would forever be thankful for his grandfather's love, wisdom and friendship.

He thought to himself at that moment his grandfather would probably be ribbing Tavington a bit about Isaac's comments. They had sounded so much like something Grandpa Mitchel would say.

Isaac Tavington, Jason's younger and only brother was the spitting image of his father. A little awkward at the age of thirteen but with a quick sense of humor, Isaac not only looked like his father, he walked, talked and sounded like the man. It gave Jason the heebie-jeebies sometimes when the boys joked about it and Isaac would start cutting up and imitate his father's accent.

Isaac was a crack shot with a rifle too but he couldn't ride nearly as well as Jason's oldest sister, Ena.

Ena was everything Jason's mother dreamed of in a sweet baby girl. She dressed her in ribbons and bows and pigtails and tried to teach her all the things mothers teach little girls-until Ena turned seven and fell in love with horses. Although it wasn't as if Momma had lost her first baby to horse fever but Ena was hit by it with a passion that only rivaled his own. All the Tavington children loved to ride. Now at the age of eleven, little Ena could just about outride them all.

She had her own little saddle and Jason couldn't wait to see her face when she saw the new horses.

At least his poor mother still had three other daughters to herself, all of them just girlie enough to keep her happy and still treat their Daddy like a king. Regardless though, of how they treated their father, or how their mother doted on her daughters, the Tavington girls were Jason's girls. Jason had been there when all his siblings were born and he adored each and every one of them. That's the way it had to be in Ohio Country. You're brothers and sisters were helpers and playmates. They had to be, there was no one else around.

Jason half expected the girls-as his mother and sisters were refered to these days- to show up at any moment loaded down with baskets of whatever berries they had managed to pick that day.

Polly would probably be wearing her share of the berries on her fingers and lips. Jason swore most times the nine year old ate more than she picked. She was a cute little girl though, possessing a certain family pride about her like he did when he was her age. Just like all his sisters, she had Esther's honey colored hair but with the Mitchel brown eyes. "Just like Jason and Grandpa," Polly would say.

Lisa Tavington was seven and she knew everything. One only had to ask her. Jason had no idea where the child held all the knowledge she stored in her head but she had a thirst for it. Jason often remarked he thought Lisa would grow up to be a teacher someday. If he had to choose a favorite sister, it would be Lisa. She was not only very intelligent, she was a fun kid to spend time with and easy to entertain.

Jason's youngest sister Katherine was only four and aptly nicknamed "Katy-don't." That was all one really needed to say about Katy. She was a sweet child, very loving, always smiling, but she was always into something and usually making a mess of whatever it was she was into. If someone told Jason one of his sisters fell in the creek her Sunday best, it would be Katy.

Growing up in Ohio had been good for all of the Tavington children. They were all strong and healthy, home-schooled but educated nonetheless. Their greatest lesson in learning how to love and be loved.

Tavington had proved not only to be a wonderful father but also a good provider. He eventually built the family a bigger home so they would have room to grow. None of his children ever did without and it could never be said that Tavington was uninvolved.

His mother seemed happy with Dad and Jason had to give him credit for that. He could still remember many times as a child when his mother smiled even though he knew she was sad and lonely. Tavington always treated his mother with respect and he was grateful for that. It seemed to him that was the way a marriage should be. On the Frontier husbands and wives had to learn to work together. Not only because the marriage benefited from it, but because their lives often depended on it.

Jason had been young when his father entered his life and married his mother. He had stepped up and taken on his responsibilities like man. Jason worshipped him then as a child, but now, as a man himself he admired Tavington.

Occasionally over the years his dad would make a comment about his days as a British officer that led Jason to believe he was a man with a dark past. That never bothered Jason because from the first day he met the man, Tavington had been good to him. That was all that mattered to Jason and unlike most step-sons, Jason could honestly say that Tavington had never treated him any less than his natural children. Jason was Tavington's oldest son, period.

Whether Jason took his name or inherited from him, it made no difference. When Jason inherited the Mitchel farm after the old man died, he and Tim took up residence as bachelors and with the money Tim earned from the sale of the Concord farm the two had started their horse breeding business. Jason had his own land and money, he didn't need to inherit anything from Tavington.

Jason's only other ambitions were set on someday finding a nice girl to marry and starting a family of his own…he certainly had been raised by good example.

With that thought, Jason's finished woolgathering and left the others to discuss more about events at the auction. He needed to get the horses into the stable, get them rubbed down, fed and watered for the night. He was starving and wondered what his mother made for dinnner.

Perhaps tomorrow, after the Morgans had a good rest, he would hitch them to the wagon and see what they could do.

October in Ohio Country was perfect weather for a pick-nick and a hayride.

His sisters loved hayrides.

~The End


	18. Acknowledgements

Dear Readers,

I don't normally post things like this at the end of my stories but because of the response I have gotten I feel compelled to.

First of all I wanted to say thank you to everyone out there that has read and reviewed or subscribed to this story. It's knowing that someone out there appreciates what I have to write that makes me continue.

I am very satisfied with the way this story turned out. I have a few little typos here and there I would like to go back and fix, but other than that, I think this is the first time I've written something I have no desire to revise.

The idea for William's story came about one night when the real Esther (Loves History) was trying to convince me to write something for The Patriot. At that time she had read some of my Star Trek fics as well as an original fic I'm still working on and really wanted to me to try a Tavington fic after I wrote a short companion piece for her.

It was always obvious to both of us in the movie that Tavington was intrigued by the idea of The Ohio Country. Whether it was because he wanted to be titled there (if the British won) or if he had a true desire to farm, the movie never specifies. But when you watch the scenes where he discusses it with Cornwallis as well as the deleted scenes, you have to wonder what he would have done with land in Ohio.

As we chatted over the course of a few weeks the idea of Tavington possibly surviving and making his way to Ohio after the war looked more and more like a plausible, fresh plot.

Esther begged me to write it. Then she dared me and then double dog dared me and by the time I went to bed the next morning, the first chapter had been posted.

It's been a roller coaster but I've truly enjoyed writing something for Tav.

I've gotten many PM's and emails from readers with compliments on everything from the actual history involved to the horses and the message behind the story. I loved reading each and every one of them and it was very nice of you all to stroke my ego a little.

I like to think of myself as a story teller rather than a writer or author. But since I cant just sit down with you all over a couple of beers or a cup of tea and tell you these stories, I actually have to try and remember what my English Grammar and Creative Writing teacher, Mrs. Collins, taught me. Although I would hate to think of what she would do with her red pen, I'd like to think she would have enjoyed this story too. So, I'm giving a shout out to all the teachers out there (especially the History and English teachers) who sometimes wonder if their students are actually learning anyhing.

I always try to write about things I know and I'm happy it showed in the details. Thank you all for noticing.

I am very proud to be from Ohio and I'm also proud of our way or life as well as our deep agricultural and historical roots.

I wanted the message behind the story to show that even though people can make some huge mistakes in life, they can overcome them. They can find redemption when they learn to admit those mistakes, take responsibility for them and make the attempt to, as Bordon said, make it right. Once you are willing to change, anything is possible.

So by 'manning up', Tavington doesn't just learn about farming, he learns about actually being a friend instead of just having friends. He learns how to put himself out there and risk himself so he can love and be loved. Not just with Jason and Esther but also with Mr. Mitchel and his future children(who were all taken from bits of my personality as a child- even Isaac). He learns that respect is a two-way street rather than something to be demanded and that love makes all the difference. And finally, he learns that success isn't about glory, or money, or a land grant. It's about being happy with yourself and the life you live.

So thank you, Esther for double dog daring me. Thanks to my brother Jeff, for helping me think like a soldier and his help with Fiddler's Green. Thanks Janeen and Tracy and Stephen for your support and encouragement.

And thanks again to everyone else out there for reading.

With much affection and appreciation,

Julie


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